


Seven Days, Then the Sun

by anax imperator (anax)



Series: Objective Uncertainty, Held Fast [4]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, M/M, this got pretty long didn't it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3556001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anax/pseuds/anax%20imperator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nero claimed, over and over, that he was okay.  He was lying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Days, Then the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for a brief mention of suicidal ideation.

"You can do this," Nero told his reflection. He said the words quietly, so that Dante - outside the bathroom in the next room - wouldn't hear them over the running water, but he put as much conviction into them as he could. He had to believe this. He had to make himself believe this.

The mirror was steamed, and streaks were left when Nero again wiped it, but he could see his reflection well enough to know that he didn't _look_ like he believed it. He schooled his expression, relaxing his features, and he tried to banish the lines between his eyebrows and around the corners of his mouth. "You can do this," he said again. _"I_ can do this. I can do this. Everything is cool. No sweat."

He closed his eyes and imagined Dante growling at him, biting him, the way it usually happened. He reached down and took his erection in hand, and gave himself a quick stroke as he pictured it. His right hand prickled, a constant irritant that nevertheless drew him toward the demon in the next room, like a leashed collar he wore inside his flesh.

This was doable. He could do this. It had been more than two weeks since he'd last lain down for Dante, which was far too long. His body ached for it, he could think about almost nothing else, and Dante became predictable when aroused. This was doable.

Nero stopped before he was even close to coming, because masturbation was pointless. It only helped for a day, or sometimes less than a day. If Nero could give himself what he needed, he never would have started sleeping with Dante in the first place and he would have spared himself all the heartache. He reached into the shower to shut off the water. Yes, he could do this.

He put some pants on, but waited a minute or two before coming out of the bathroom, so it wouldn't be apparent that he'd let the shower keep running for a while after he was finished with it. His heart sped up a bit when he stepped out into the main room, but Dante didn't even look up from his magazine. That helped, that reminder that there was actually no pressure here, but Nero had no choice at this point. He had to have it. He was going to go insane if he didn't get it.

The bathroom had been warmed by steam, but the rest of the building was much colder and the water on Nero's skin and in his hair picked up the chill in seconds. He crossed the room and plucked the magazine out of Dante's hand, and tossed it down on the desk.

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't kiss you," said Nero.

Dante kicked the desk to pivot his chair a bit in Nero's direction. "I'm afraid I only have reasons why you should," he said, and when Nero bent down Dante tilted back his head and put his arms around Nero's waist.

 _Yes. Yes._ Dante's mouth on his stepped up the pressure, but there was an end in sight now; Dante kissed like he was trying to eat Nero, like he'd been sitting there with a hard-on for hours. Settling into Dante's lap and straddling his thighs, Nero started to open the man's shirt with a shaking hand. _Yes._ He needed this. It felt like Dante needed it, too.

With a half-moan, half-snarl that went straight to Nero's groin, Dante turned his head away from Nero's mouth. Nero turned the other way without any thought whatsoever, and panted in Dante's ear as teeth sank into the junction between his neck and shoulder. It _hurt,_ but wasn't intolerable, and the pain did weird things to him. It squirmed in his belly, heated his erection, and made him want to do anything for the devil hurting him. He turned his head farther to the side to invite a second bite, neither surprised nor disappointed that the encounter had reached this point so quickly. He needed this.

"Yes," he moaned, as Dante made a demonic sound and delivered a second bite. One of Dante's hands went between Nero's legs at the same time, and Nero lost his head for a second, forgot what he was doing and forgot that he had to keep control. He just moaned and ground against the palm of Dante's hand, ready to do anything at all to relieve the heat and pressure.

 _Fuck me._ Nero caught himself in time, kicked out of the moment of mindless pleasure by what he'd almost said; he turned the sound into another moan and hoped Dante hadn't noticed that there'd been a word in there at first. He forced himself to think, to keep from succumbing to his body's demands, and to remember that he couldn't let Dante just throw him across the desk. That would _definitely_ happen if Nero actually asked for it. He had to keep his wits together, no matter how badly he wanted to simply surrender to whatever Dante chose to do.

 _Damn_ it wasn't easy, though. The hands on his body, and the teeth in his shoulder, pushed him to comply as surely as a physical weight pushed him toward the ground. Dante was just _so_ strong, and that was _so_ sexy; given the opportunity, Dante would fuck Nero into the floor and there was nothing Nero wanted more.

Dante's bite changed, easing up, and then he was tonguing the side of Nero's neck. "I want you," came the whisper, wet against his skin. "Nero." The arm around Nero's waist pulled him closer.

The reply pressed against Nero's teeth. _Fuck me._ He bit down so as not to say it. Dante inside him, Dante snarling like a demon and making Nero feel like he was having one long orgasm ... he wanted it so badly. So badly.

But no. Self control. _Self control._ He had to keep it together. He couldn't give in.

Between Dante's tongue and the fingers gripping his balls through his pants, Nero was desperately hard, and he probably could have come just like that even though it wouldn't have been as good. Dante wanted him, though, and any moment now the older hunter was going to act on that desire. Once he started, Nero would let him.

So he licked the side of Dante's ear and whispered, "I want you in my mouth."

Dante inhaled, loudly through his nose, and then whispered against Nero's throat, "You sure, kid?"

"Yes." It would relieve Nero's need to get Dante off, and there was no better way to guarantee the desk thing didn't start.

Dante's free hand went up Nero's back and into his hair, and he caught Nero in another deep kiss; with his other hand he worked Nero's cock until Nero was panting and whimpering into Dante's mouth. _Fuck_ did it feel good, and it was a good thing Nero was still damp and the room was cold because the chill against his back the only thing keeping his blood from burning him.

Then Dante threw his head back and panted, and Nero was able to kiss the man's throat for only a couple of seconds before the hand in his hair pressed him down. That was fine. It helped him remember what he was doing.

Getting onto his knees in front of Dante was its own kind of thrill, and Nero's arousal smoothly shifted gear. People _should_ kneel before Dante - everyone, Nero especially - and his mind and body responded together to the position of submission. He rubbed his lips against Dante's groin, feeling the shape of the man's testicles through his pants, and all desire to be fucked was completely gone. What he wanted now was this powerful devil's cock in his mouth, and to hear Dante moan.

Dante had his pants half-open already, so Nero opened them the rest of the way and put his nose down into the gap to inhale the scent of it. Warm, musky, masculine, and also a little like sweat and something animal. Nero wanted to taste, and he could afford to give in to his desires now and just swim in them. He licked the length of Dante's erection through the slit in his boxers, then pulled it out with his hand so he could moved back the foreskin and tongue the sensitive line where the foreskin attached under the head, and _fuck_ the _sounds_ Dante made when he did that. Dante's hand in Nero's hair tightened into a fist, tearing at his hair until the pain was momentarily blinding and he was sure that a chunk of it was about to be ripped out. He couldn't stifle a cry.

The pain only made Nero more eager to please, more ready to do anything necessary to bring Dante to orgasm. He lifted Dante's erection so he could get his mouth on it, and Dante's grip tightened further; tears were in his eyes.

All he wanted now was to hear Dante moan ... until Dante pushed Nero's head back a touch and an instant of panic flashed like a lightning strike. The panic jerked Nero _back, away,_ except that the grip on his hair kept him from moving, and the terror just exploded through him. It passed as quickly as it had arrived, crashing everything out of Nero's mind and leaving him cold and shivering in the aftermath, but when his senses returned Dante's cock was still in his mouth.

He remembered what he'd been doing, and began to suck; the immovable hold on his hair had kept him from going anywhere. He just hoped he hadn't flailed in his panic, and that he hadn't been out of it for more than a second. He didn't seem to have bitten down. Maybe Dante hadn't even noticed.

No such luck. The fingers holding him loosened, and Dante said, "You okay, kid?" The words were almost growled.

Nero pulled back enough to say, "Yeah. Just ... choked for a second." That seemed satisfactory, and Dante stroked his head while Nero took the older hunter's cock back into his mouth. Without the hold on his hair it was easier to move into a good position, high up on his knees to bring his mouth down onto Dante's erection.

His own arousal, killed by that instant of panic, started to come back as he got settled on his knees. The bites to his shoulder no longer hurt, but his scalp still did and he knew there would be more pain when Dante started to get close. He wanted that. The pain made him submissive, and submission made him hot. Nero took as much cock into his mouth as he could stand, then sucked hard as he drew back and ran his tongue over the smooth head, and Dante _moaned_ again.

Gloved fingers went over the back of Nero's neck. If Dante grabbed his hair there it was going to hurt like a _motherfucker,_ and Nero moaned as well. _Yes._ He went down again, and back up, and settled into a slow rhythm to drag it out. Dante just rested his hand on Nero's neck and allowed it.

It got easier to get more of Dante's erection into his mouth, and Nero wrapped his fingers around the base to take care of the rest of it. A little pressure on the back of his neck told him when to start going faster, and that was when Nero's own erection began to ache again. Dante wanted to come, and Nero was going to do whatever it took to make him come, a fact that put all kinds of interesting feelings into the pit of his belly. There was no way Nero was going to try masturbating with his devil bringer, so he just endured the unsatisfied arousal as he fellated the demon who had mastered him.

Eventually it came: the curl of fingers at the nape of his neck, and the exquisite pain as the short hairs there were pulled. The pain made Nero whimper, and made him suck as hard as he could. Dante was panting, and each breath was a low groan, and Nero could feel the strain in Dante's thighs as his knees closed against Nero's ribs. _Yes._ Nero would have moaned it if his mouth hadn't been full. _Yes._ He waited for Dante to use his hair to force his head down, and make him swallow the man's cock.

That didn't happen. The hold on his hair suddenly disappeared as Dante removed his hand.

"Nero." His name was a moan. "I'm ..."

 _Yes._ Nero pulled up enough to run his tongue all over the head of Dante's cock, until Dante's hips jerked and slick semen hit the back of his throat. This was not Nero's favorite part, but he swallowed it anyway because that was the only way to keep sucking and licking, until Dante was all but crying with pleasure.

That _was_ Nero's favorite part: Dante undone, Dante lost. Nero sat back on his heels so he could watch Dante's face; the older hunter's eyes were closed and his head thrown back, and the expression he wore ... Open, and unguarded. Beautiful.

"Stop," Dante whispered, and Nero let the man's softening cock drop out of his mouth, and rested with his cheek against the side of Dante's thigh. Dante was predictable, and now he'd just sit there for a minute or five, and give Nero the opportunity to look at him without any questions about why he was doing it.

With his ice-blue eyes closed and his frame relaxed, Dante looked like just a person, but Nero's devil bringer knew better. Dante was a demon, a powerful one, powerful enough to force Nero to do whatever he wanted. He never actually forced Nero to do anything, not really, but just the fact that he _could_ made Nero want to come.

Right then, though, he wanted Dante to kiss him. Not with the deep, frenzied kisses that usually started encounters like this. He wanted gentle kisses, normal kisses, and he could believe that if he were to get back up into Dante's lap right now, he would get them. He didn't move, though. If he were to move he would rouse Dante, and he didn't want that. No matter how strong the desire to be kissed, the desire to stay on his knees, waiting, was stronger. Nero put his left hand down into his pants and started to stroke himself, slowly, too aroused by his own submission to resist.

Presently Dante stirred, and he opened his eyes and smiled, and it was the smile of a pleased demon.

"Come here," he said, and Nero got up into his lap again. Dante kissed him, and the kiss was soft and gentle, exactly how Nero had expected, and it put a brief pain into his throat that he could never be kissed this way except when Dante was tired and not thinking clearly.

Dante sighed a soft moan into the kiss, and lowered Nero's pants and underwear just far enough to expose his erection. He knew exactly how to get Nero off, as many times as he'd done it, and it wasn't as good as being fucked but it was still really fucking good. His gloves were rough, his grip tight, the pace just slow enough to drive Nero out of his mind. Nero braced his hands on the arms of the chair and thrust into the grip on his cock, and Dante sucked a bit and drew Nero's tongue into his mouth.

How did he _do_ this? How did he make Nero _feel_ like this? It was just a kiss and a hand job, but it tightened his body and seized his spine with a level of pleasure he was _never_ able to accomplish on his own. Nero had to break the kiss and lean against Dante's shoulder just to _breathe._ He lost all sense except for the feel of Dante's hand on his erection, and when he came, he came messily, moaning, his back arching.

Afterward, predictably, Dante was tolerant of more tired and lazy kisses. Straddling the man's lap was not the most comfortable way to enjoy them, but Nero wanted the kisses more than he wanted to go lay down. The pressure was gone and the tension relaxed, and Nero was hazy, wanting little more than to rest against Dante and enjoy the feel of Dante's hands and mouth. He could pretend, when Dante was drowsy and affectionate, that there was more to these trysts than two devil hybrids itching one another until they had no choice but to scratch.

The chill of the room, though, quickly became more noticeable as Nero's skin cooled, and a shiver suddenly gripped him. Dante made a soft sound, amused, and said, "Go put on a shirt."

"In a minute," Nero whispered, but then he shivered again. "Well, okay." The room really was fucking cold.

So he got up, and so did Dante, although Dante went to the bathroom to presumably clean some of the semen off his pants. Nero put some more clothes on, and went to check the space heater in the middle of the room to see if it was actually working. It was; heat seared into the backs of his fingers when he put them in front of it.

"It's supposed to snow again tonight," said Dante, when he came back out.

"Damn," said Nero. He flopped down on the couch and pulled a blanket over his legs. He felt so good. "Does it ever stop snowing here?"

"In March, maybe." Dante returned to his seat at the desk and picked up his magazine. "You can sleep upstairs tonight, if you're cold."

"No. I'll be fine." He'd just move the space heater closer to the couch once Dante went to bed. That was met with silence, and when Nero glanced up Dante was giving him that _look._ "Really," said Nero. "I'll be fine. I'm not going to take your bed away from you."

"... okay." Dante put his feet up on the desk and opened the magazine.

Overall, Nero thought that had gone well. Only the one moment of panic, and it hadn't been too bad and he'd covered it. The prickling in his right hand and forearm bothered him less, and when he picked up his book he was able to focus on it.

Most importantly Dante had clearly been satisfied. The next time Lady called, there would be no need for Dante to tell her anything but _no._

* * *

It did snow that night, and when Nero woke up it was still snowing. He cleared the front step with a broom so that he wouldn't need to use a shovel later when it got deeper, because fuck if Dante was going to do it. He was shivering and covered in a dusting of snow by the time he was done and got back inside.

If this place had a kitchen, or anything resembling one, he'd set about making breakfast now. Normally he didn't mind Dante's habit of eating out literally all the time, but on days like this Nero really missed being able to feed himself at home. Even a bowl of cereal would be an improvement over having to walk to the diner, or having to wait until the pizza delivery place opened.

He was still thinking about this when the phone rang, and a flash of panic nailed him to the spot.

Nero had no idea how long it lasted; the phone was still ringing when he came out of it, his heart pounding and his breath fast. He put a hand to his chest and took a breath, and tried to get it under control as he crossed the room to answer the phone.

He paused with his hand on the receiver and took another breath before picking it up. "Devil May Cry." His hand shook.

"Nero! How you doing?" It was Lady, her voice chipper.

Oh, hell. She was the last person on Earth Nero wanted to talk to, especially after _that._ "Fine."

"Did I wake you?"

"No," said Nero, but then he realized he must have let the phone ring a good long time while incapacitated. "I was outside dealing with the snow. Dante's not up yet."

"Yeah, I figured. Actually I wanted to talk to you."

This was new. "What about?" Nero was sure he didn't want to talk to _her,_ but it would be risky to refuse. If he did, she'd probably want to talk to Dante instead.

"Can you meet me somewhere?"

"Ahhh, I guess. I'm not going to have to drive anywhere, am I?"

She laughed. "Don't like driving in the snow?"

"We don't get a lot of snow on Fortuna."

"That's okay. I'll come to you. Can you make it to that diner Dante is always going to?"

"Sure."

"Ten minutes?"

"Okay."

After hanging up, Nero looked around for the note paper to write Dante a note, and he was disgusted that he had to go along with this. Keeping Dante from talking to Lady was more important, though.

He found the note pad in Dante's top desk drawer, but when he touched the pen to the paper he had another attack of panic, and a flash of memory whipped through his mind. When it was over he was half on the floor with his claws sunk into the edge of the desk, his breath coming fast again and his hand pressed to his abdomen. There was no scar there, under his clothes, but there was a twinge of pain where the scar should have been.

"Fuck," he whispered, as he collected himself, stood up, and blinked to banish the memory of jagged metal going straight through him. This was intolerable. His breathing was ragged and he was shaking. "Can't even write a note anymore."

The pen was gone and Nero couldn't find it, so he dug another one out of the drawer. _Out for breakfast,_ he wrote, and then put the pad in the middle of the desk where Dante would see it. He took a minute to settle his nerves, then put on gloves and his gun, and turned off the space heater before going out into the cold.

His ears and nose felt frostbitten by the time he got to the diner, cold enough that the sudden warmth of the building was nearly painful. Lady was waiting for him, and she waved to him with a bright smile from the corner booth. Nero tried to suppress a frown when he saw her, but didn't quite succeed.

"What's the matter?" she asked, when he slid into the seat across from her.

"Nothing." Nothing except that Nero hated her. He took off his gloves and laid them on the table. "What'd you need?"

Cindy interrupted by dropping off a cup of coffee for Lady and asking what Nero wanted. He ordered coffee as well, and a waffle, and when she left Lady flipped over a photo that had been laying face-down on the table.

"I need you to kill this for me," she said, sliding it across the table to Nero.

The photo was of an ordinary-looking guy, wearing a T-shirt and cargo pants, and standing in front of a scenic valley and distant mountains. He was smiling and posing against a railing. "What is it?" asked Nero.

"A sorcerer," said Lady. "Run into one yet?" She poured a container of creamer into her coffee.

"I don't think so." Nero turned the photo over but there was nothing written on the back.

"They start out as human beings, but they trade their souls with demons for power. Eventually the demon kind of takes over. I'm not sure what kind of demon this one has turned into, but the story is that it's about to summon something not far from downtown."

"Huh. Actually, does sound familiar." Nero frowned at her. "What's the catch?"

Lady smiled and took a sip of her coffee. "No catch. It'll be a good fee."

"Then why aren't _you_ doing it?"

She shrugged, still smiling. "I'm sort of booked up. There is a condition, though. You _can't_ tell Dante I gave this to you."

This was very suspicious, and Nero glared at the photograph but it gave him no additional information. The man looked extremely ordinary, and Nero presumed the photo had been taken before the guy had turned into a demon.

Could he do this? Was this a risk he was willing to take right now?

"No," he said, and put the photo back down in front of Lady. "Give it to Dante." As irritating as it would be to purposefully put Lady and Dante into a room together, Nero couldn't afford to put himself into a completely unknowable situation. Not right now.

"I can't give it to Dante," said Lady. "That's why I'm giving it to _you."_

"Why not? He isn't busy or anything."

"Because he'll want to know what else I'm doing this week, and it's not his business."

"Then don't tell him. Tell him it's none of his business."

Cindy returned to drop off Nero's coffee, and Lady was quiet until she left again. "You know Dante," said Lady. "You know what he's like. You're more responsible."

That was true enough, but Nero wasn't in a mood to be flattered, especially not by Lady. "I don't want to do it," he said. "You can do it yourself."

"I can't," she said, and she pushed the photo back across the table. "This summoning is supposed to happen tomorrow night, and I just can't get to it that quickly. If you don't agree to take it, this thing is going to do what it's going to do, and who knows how many people will get killed?"

 _Damn_ her. Nero was trapped. He wasn't going to let people just die, and Lady fucking knew it. He had to spend a moment taking control of his fury, before he could speak again without spitting. "How much is this worth to you?" he asked, once he had a grip.

"Nothing to me," said Lady. "It's worth a thousand bucks to the woman who called me about it. Look, I'm not even going to withhold a commission. You can have the whole fee."

What the hell. Nero narrowed his eyes at her. "Okay, what's the story?"

"The story is that I'm dropping a rush job in your lap and you can't tell Dante I gave it to you, and money talks." Lady passed over a slip of paper with a woman's name on it, an address, and a phone number. "I already let her know you'll be coming by today."

Of course she had. Fuck Lady. "What am I supposed to tell Dante?" asked Nero.

"I don't care. Anything, except that this came from me. If you take him with you, don't let him talk to the woman with the money." Lady tapped the paper. "She might mention me."

Nero took the paper because he already knew he was going to do this. "She can give me more info? Like who this demon used to be, where to find it, all that?" This didn't make a lick of sense, none of it. Nero had been manipulated into a corner and he couldn't even figure out why. It was a challenge to keep himself from literally grinding his teeth.

"Yes."

Nero spent a minute chewing on that, until Cindy delivered their breakfasts and he set the paper and photo aside in order to eat. "All right," he told her, in between bites. _"This one time._ Never again."

Lady smiled again, a brilliant smile that Nero wanted to punch right off her face. "You're the best," she said.

"That's what everyone tells me," said Nero bitterly, as he slipped the photo and paper in one of his coat's inside pockets.

* * *

Dante was up when Nero got back, reading a magazine. "Morning, kid," he said.

"Morning." Nero set his gun down on the coffee table. His devil bringer was brilliant blue-white when he took of his gloves, and he put his hands over his ears to warm them. "I'm going back out later." He should leave about one or two, he thought. The roads should be better by then.

"Okay." Dante didn't even look up.

Nero went over to the jukebox and put on one of those fast songs with all the percussion that Dante liked, and after a moment Dante's boot toe started to move a little in time with the beat.

"We should probably save some money to get the windows weatherstripped," said Nero.

"You know how much that costs?" asked Dante.

"Nope."

"Neither do I. That's why I've never done it."

"Maybe it's time to find out how much it costs and have it done." Nero went to the pool table and racked the balls. "There's no reason this room has to be this cold."

"Yeah, maybe." Dante turned the page. "I never cared much, but it's cold down here at night, isn't it? It's warmer upstairs, you know."

Nero didn't care. He set the cue ball down and picked up a stick. "When are you going to kick me out?"

"Never," said Dante. "When you get fed up, you'll leave, but, y'know something kid? I kinda like having you here."

That wasn't an unexpected answer, but it was nice to hear it said out loud. "I was thinking earlier," said Nero. "I want some food around here." He leaned down with the cue to break, and then surveyed the table to plan out his strategy.

"Didn't you just have breakfast?"

"I don't mean leftover pizza and shit. I mean real food, like milk and bread and eggs."

Dante laughed. "I'm not stopping you from buying that. We have a fridge, you know. Put whatever you want in it. Move some stuff around in the cabinets behind the bar and you can have those, too."

For some reason this warmed Nero, more than it had any right to. He walked around the table to make a shot. "Mind if I get a hot plate?"

"Nope. Do what you like. You live here, too. Do whatever makes you happy."

"Curtains?" asked Nero hopefully.

"I draw the line at pink lace." Dante finally looked up from his magazine, and gave Nero the kind of smile that was a little painful to see, because it didn't mean what Nero wanted it to mean. "I had no idea you wanted to do some interior decorating, kid."

"Curtains keep the cold out, stupid," said Nero, and he turned away, walking around the table again to put his back to Dante, so he wouldn't have to see that smile. "It's fucking cold."

"You ought to tell me when you get cold. I'll warm you up."

Oh, hell. Nero just put the cue stick down, because that sounded like an invitation, and even thought it had come out of nowhere his body took only five seconds to react to it. It was far too easy to imagine leaning against the pool table with Dante behind him, fucking him hard, in part because he could probably make that happen right now just by asking for it.

A lot of danger in that, though, of being held down. Too much for Nero to risk. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, and he picked the cue back up but was too flustered now to concentrate on the table.

His loss of composure didn't go unnoticed. "You want me to come over there right now?" Dante asked.

"... I'm going out again later," said Nero.

"We could be quick."

Oh, _hell._ Nero put the cue back down again; if Dante did come over to the pool table, there would be nothing he could do. He wouldn't be able to refuse. He wasn't sure he could refuse now, with Dante halfway across the room. Once he felt Dante's hands and lips, he'd fold for certain.

He _had_ to refuse. Even though it was unusual for Dante to approach him for sex, and that meant Dante really, really wanted it right now, he _had_ to refuse. There was just too much risk.

"That's okay," said Nero. "I'm ..." He gritted his teeth to spit out the lie. "Not really in the mood right now."

Dante took it easily. "Suit yourself, kid. Just lemme know."

"I will." Now Nero had to figure out how to cover the fact that he had a raging hard-on because he really _did_ want Dante come over and fuck him. He still had his coat on, and even this one Kyrie had given him came down almost to his knees; he tried to discreetly button it, thinking that if Dante asked, he'd just claim to be cold.

Dante didn't ask, and behind him Nero heard a page turn. Once he had his coat fastened, Nero picked the cue back up and bent down over the table, and tried not to think about how it would feel to have Dante behind him, touching him, kissing his neck.

The pool game helped; Nero had zero trouble making the balls fall where he wanted, but it took some concentration to plan out the best way to sink them all. He could just take shot after shot after shot, but he wanted to be skillful about it. Putting little challenges to himself was the only way to enjoy this game, after all, and the more he thought about pool the less he thought about Dante's hand between his legs.

A couple of minutes later there was a knock at the door, and it slipped open as Dante walked over to answer it. "Pizza?" said the delivery person, a teenaged girl by the sound. When Dante assented, she said, "Nine-fifty-three."

Unbelievable. After Dante had paid and was on his way back to his desk, Nero said, incredulous, "So, you wanted to fuck on the pool table knowing that pizza was on its way?"

"I like you more than I like pizza," said Dante.

Un- _fucking_ -believable! Nero finally turned around to face him. "So you wanted me to be bent over with my pants around my ankles when a _person you knew was coming_ walked in the door?"

"I would have locked the door." Dante took a slice out of the box and dropped the box on his desk, and then himself into the desk chair.

"You fucking asshole!" Nero threw the cue stick down onto the table and walked across the room to get his keys. The roads wouldn't be much better yet, but there was no way he was sticking around _here_ any longer.

Nero shucked his wool coat, and put on a second hoodie before throwing on his stained denim jacket and holstering his gun. That got Dante's attention, and Nero prepared to be questioned. He'd just say he got a call before breakfast; it would have the advantage of being true. He had no idea why he should protect Lady's secrets for her, but as long as he didn't have to lie straight-out he might as well.

The questions never came. Dante just ate his pizza, and watched Nero check the fuel level in his sword and top it off without asking for any explanation whatsoever.

Once Nero was out of the building he was smacked in the face with frigid air, and he hurried to his car because this coat didn't keep out the cold very well. He had to battle the ice on the car door to get the door open, and wound up having to hook his claws into a tiny gap between door and car body and using his devil bringer's strength to force the ice to break.

"Damn him, anyway," Nero muttered as he started his car. "I don't even know why I care."

* * *

He got turned around in downtown, and kept getting stuck on one-way streets going the opposite direction from where he needed to be. Then he had trouble figuring out where to park, because it was mid-day on a Tuesday and despite the snow and cold all the surface lots were full of office workers' vehicles. He wound up in a parking garage, unsure of how much this was going to cost him but sure it was going to be a lot.

By the time he got to the building that matched the address on Lady's paper, he was irritated and all but frozen through, and he was in no mood to deal with bullshit. It was a high-rise, a glass-walled office building with a front desk and a security guard.

He pulled the paper out of his coat as he approached the security desk, and the guard behind it actually stood up. "I'm here to see an Erica Tasso," he said, reading the name. "In suite 713."

"Sir," said the guard, "there are no weapons allowed in the building."

 _What?_ Nero stared for a moment, and then said, "Fuck you." This was too much. He was _not_ going to deal with this. "Tell Erica Tasso her devil hunter is here, and I'm going across the street to get something to drink." He wadded up the paper and threw it at the guard's chest.

Across the street was a lower set of buildings, with a coffee shop on the ground floor of one. _This_ place didn't try to keep Nero out just because he had a sword with him, and happily took his money in exchange for one of those sweet chocolate-and-coffee things that tasted like a candy bar. It was also warm in there, and full of people buying coffee to keep out the cold; there was nowhere to sit, so Nero leaned against the wall near the door.

This was ridiculous, and he decided that if he finished his silly coffee drink before this lady came over to talk to him, he was going to just leave. He thought he'd left this crap behind on Fortuna. He was a fucking knight of the Order, and a devil hunter, and he wasn't going to _rob_ the place, or kill anyone in there. Nobody here had _any_ reason to treat him like he was dangerous.

About five minutes later, and long before Nero was done with his frilly coffee, a woman in a dark overcoat and what looked like an equally dark business suit under it left the office building and crossed the street. She looked around when she came in the door, and startled when she caught sight of him less than four feet away.

"Oh," she said. "You must be him."

"What gave it away?" asked Nero. "The sword? The annoyed look on my face?"

She apologized that he hadn't been able to get into her building, and wanted him to come back across the street to talk in her office, but Nero had had enough of that place. "Just tell me who this thing used to be and where to find it," he said. "And where I can find you afterward."

After another glance around, she lowered her voice. "Okay," she said.

The demon (or sorcerer, or whatever) was her brother. He'd owned a small machine shop, but it had become a victim of the economy and had recently gone under, and not long after that his girlfriend had left him. The ex-girlfriend had recently disappeared, and Erica believed the worst.

"It's not him, though," she said, and although her voice had been even up until this point, her tone now faltered. "It looks like him, and it talks like him but ... whatever that thing is, it's not Alex anymore. Something has ... eaten him, or something." She looked away, down and out the coffee shop front window. "I want you to kill it. I know you probably can't save him. There's probably nothing left of him to save. But I want you to kill the thing that killed him."

"Yeah, I can do that," said Nero, and he hoped he could.

She gave him what she knew about her brother's whereabouts and current activities; apparently he'd been trying to get a loan to re-start his business for weeks, and had finally managed to get some money from some source he wouldn't identify to his sister. Since then he'd been hanging around the site of his old shop. Erica was afraid to go see or talk to him there, but he'd called her last night and told her that tomorrow all his problems would be solved.

Nero didn't know how Lady had gone from that to "this guy is going to do a summoning," since that statement could just as easily apply to borrowing money from a loan shark - or, for that matter, committing suicide - but he'd roll with it. This wasn't a ton to go on, but if the guy was a devil now, Nero should be able to know when he got close. She gave Nero her home address and told him to come there when he was done, and she could barely get the words out. Nero's annoyance was now completely gone; he remembered what it had been like to watch Credo fall, and he hadn't even had a direct hand in that.

"It'll be okay," he told her, even though there was no reason to think anything would be okay. She just looked so upset now, and he had to say _something._ "I'll be able to tell if he's ... himself, or if something has taken him over. If it has, I'll kill it."

She put a hand over her mouth and inhaled sharply, and she wouldn't look at him, but she nodded. "I love Alex," she said, her voice unsteady. "I want the thing that ate him to die."

"I'll kill it." That was apparently the only comfort he could give her.

After she left to go back across the street, and Nero had finished his coffee, he left the crowded coffee shop went to the parking garage to get his car. Devil hunting, here on the mainland, was _nothing_ like what he'd expected it to be.

* * *

There was a devil in the machine shop. Nero knew it as soon as he pulled into the empty and unplowed parking lot, when the fingers on his right hand started to tingle. He didn't know what about this story had led Erica Tasso or Lady to reach the conclusions they had, but his time wasn't going to be wasted here, with all of the unfortunate implications that fact carried.

The building looked like it had once had something to do with car repair, with the large bay doors now bricked up but still visible. Nero parked and walked around a bit, just to see what kind of battleground he was looking at here. There were three ways in: a door at the front, one in the back, and the third in between the sealed bay doors. He'd go in through that side door, he decided. The place probably had a front office and then a larger space where the cars had been worked on during the building's first life. The demon in there either knew he was here already or it didn't, but regardless there was nothing to be gained by going anywhere but straight into the most likely place for a gate-opening ritual.

That decided, Nero saw no reason to delay further and spend more time in the snow and freezing cold. He stripped off his gloves and brought out Nevan to scythe through the metal door, and gave the twisted remains a kick to let himself in.

It was dark inside and bright outside, so Nero moved immediately away from the door, and some sound or motion made him drop into a defensive roll; the wall pulverized over him as something struck it, and dust rained down.

"Who are you?" asked an angry voice. It sounded like a human man, but Nero's devil bringer glowed even more brightly now.

Nevan hummed in Nero's hand, but he put the weapon away in a flash of light and hefted his sword off his back as he rolled to his feet. He could see now, after a fashion, the light coming in through the broken door illuminating an open, empty space with a concrete floor and walls of painted cinder block.

The demon - or sorcerer, or whatever - was off to one side with a bucket and a paintbrush, and as Nero's eyes adjusted he could see that there was something marked on the floor, a large dark stain. "Just a neighbor," said Nero, and he rested his sword on his shoulder. "Thought I'd drop by and say hey."

"I don't need any help," said the demon. "Go home or I'll kill you."

"Is that any way to treat a guest?" There was no one else in the room, and no place to hide a captive. If the ex-girlfriend Erica had talked about was here and still alive, she must have been in the front office. "What are you up to? I heard something about a summoning ritual." Nero walked farther away from the side door, trying to get a look at what was on the floor. Whatever it was, it seemed incomplete.

This was definitely the guy in the photo Lady had given Nero, he could now see. The demon was wearing a warm, parka-like coat but it was hanging open, and it had no gloves on. The demon was silent for a few seconds, and then said, "What are you? Not human." Its breath, Nero abruptly realized, made no cloud in the cold air.

"That's a good question," said Nero. "I've never gotten a good answer to it." It wasn't quite as cold in here as it was outside, but the chill was cutting right through his coat. He ought to attack this thing now, before the cold started to slow him down, but he also sort of wanted to find out if the ex-girlfriend was somewhere nearby and in a position to rescue. "I'm just curious what you're doing, that's all."

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" asked the demon, with a snarl and a gesture at the incomplete drawing on the ground.

"Assume I'm stupid," said Nero.

"You must be." The demon dropped the paintbrush into the bucket and carried them both to the far corner. "Or maybe you're some kind of hybrid." It set down the bucket and returned to its former position; its eyes were glowing now, the faint red glint visible in the half-darkness. "Is that it? You're some kind of half-human whelp? You don't know what a grounding circle looks like because you were born here and you've never seen one before?"

"I've heard that theory," said Nero. "Not sure I buy it."

The only thing surprising about the sudden attack was how long it had taken the demon to get to this point. Nero went down and to one side to evade another _something_ that slammed into the wall behind where he'd been standing, and then he leapt to avoid a third. He couldn't tell what the creature was using to attack him; it just looked like the air moved, compacting like a shockwave in front of something he couldn't see.

"You're not leaving, are you?" asked the demon. It struck the door that Nero had used to enter with its invisible weapon, crushing the bent metal mostly back into place and cutting off the majority of the light. "If you _are_ a hybrid, I'd love to have some of your blood."

Nero had never heard _that_ before. "Why?" he asked. "What's special about my blood?"

The demon attacked instead of answering, and with the light dimmed Nero didn't see it coming in time to completely avoid it. The hit caught him on the shoulder and spun him around, and he went face-first into the wall. That hurt, but before it could really register a second hit struck him full-strength between the shoulders, and just _crunched_ him into the wall. It knocked the breath straight out of him, and something in Nero's chest snapped on impact; when he tried to inhale, agony speared his lung through the break and arrested the breath.

Panic crashed through him, blinded him, _stabbed through, can't breathe, can't breathe,_ and the world just blanked out entirely as the memory overwhelmed his mind. Somehow he wound up on the frigid floor with power surging in his blood, the vision of metal impaling him still half in his eyes, and his right hand was gripping a weapon that he had no memory of calling forth. His head was full of whispers, and he wasn't fully aware of what was happening but he remembered enough to know that he was in danger here.

 _Stand up._ He had to stand up.

His heart was pounding and he felt weak, but the power in his blood lifted him, stringing through his bones and muscles and making his body as light as paper wrapped around wires. It was very bright in the building now, and the devil he barely remembered confronting was in front of him, staring at the weapon Nero was holding.

The thing looked alarmed, and a wave of arousal went through Nero at the sight of it. It mixed weirdly and unpleasantly with the aftershocks of his panic attack.

"Is that _Yamato?"_ the thing asked, but the whispers swirled and Nero obeyed without thinking. He flipped the sword through the air, and the demon barely had time to move before the cut reached its mark. It hit the creature on the shoulder and went straight through, slicing off the demon's arm before slicing the wall behind it.

The devil took a step back, and terror spread across its face, and then it tried to take another step and its legs folded under it as blood flowed down its side. The hilt in Nero's hand evaporated at the same moment the blue light snapped out; the wires of power that had been holding Nero up snapped out, too, and Nero stumbled when his weight fell back into his body but he kept his feet.

"Damn," he said. He ran a hand over his face, and discovered clammy sweat. The pain in his chest was gone and his mind was quiet again, but traces of the panic attack lingered in his racing heart and racing breath. "Damn." He inhaled deeply, trying to regain control.

The demon was crying on the floor, literally crying like a human being, and not knowing where Red Queen had gone during his panic Nero pulled his gun before going to see what was happening. The creature had its remaining hand on the gaping hole where its shoulder had been, and blood was just pouring between its fingers. It was making no apparent effort to seal the wound or deal with the threat that Nero represented, just shivering on the floor and crying and saying, "Oh, fuck, oh, fuck," over and over.

With horror starting to yawn in his belly, Nero said, "Alex?"

"What ..." said the demon, except he wasn't a demon anymore, and that was more obvious with every passing second. "Oh, fuck, it hurts. Oh, fuck."

Nero put his gun away and crouched, but he could see immediately that there was nothing he could do. There was a hole in the wall now, and a little more light came in through it, enough to see that the man's shoulder was just completely gone. Everything from the side of his neck to his ribcage was severed, and no cut made by Yamato would be easily stanched anyway. Blood was everywhere.

There was nothing anyone could do now, Nero knew with appalling certainty. This guy was going to die, and Nero had done it. "I'm ... I'm sorry," he said.

"What is this?" the man said. "Oh, fuck, what ..." A full-body shiver wracked him, and all Nero could do was sit down and try to pull some of the man's body onto his legs and off the freezing floor.

"I'm sorry," said Nero again, with nausea rising. He'd done this. This man was dying, and he'd done it, and there was _nothing at all_ he could do to stop it.

"What's ..."

"A demon had you," said Nero quietly, his throat tight. "Your sister asked me to ... to deal with it. I'm so sorry. I didn't ..."

He choked on the words. He hadn't known Alex was still alive in there. He hadn't known it would even be possible to separate the devil from the man. He hadn't intended to use Yamato and wouldn't have if he'd been in his right mind.

He'd just _killed_ a _human being._ This guy was _dying_ because of something _he'd done,_ and he _couldn't stop it._

Alex convulsed again, and he was panting now. "Oh, fuck," he repeated, thready, panicky, and Nero carded his talons through the man's hair. Tears stung his eyes and there was pressure within his chest as Alex shook again, and Nero leaned down over the body in his lap as the shivers became weaker, the panting breaths shallower. Less than two minutes after Yamato had inflicted this wound, the shivering and desperate gasps for air ceased altogether.

He'd done this. He'd done this. Nero could do nothing except clutch the warm body, hate himself, and sob.

* * *

There was blood on his jeans. Nero contemplated the stain as he sat in his car outside Erica Tasso's place, and the sky darkened toward night. He hadn't gotten a ton of blood on him, and most of it had wound up in the red lining of his coat where it wasn't readily visible, but some had also soaked into the right thigh of his pants. There was no way she wouldn't see it immediately.

He had no idea what he was going to tell this woman. Just thinking about it made the emotion swell again, and he had to wipe moisture from his eyes. _I murdered your brother for you. That'll be a thousand dollars, please._ There was no way he could accept the money, but he still had to tell her something. He just didn't know what.

The blood wasn't wet anymore, but it hadn't yet dried into stiffness, either. If Nero got his jeans into the wash soon, the blood might not even leave a stain. The idea made him laugh, and the laugh turned into a sob, and then he had to lean his forehead against the steering wheel for a few minutes while the grief and guilt flowed through him like lava and he cried it out.

This hadn't even been _his_ brother. He couldn't imagine what Erica was going to feel when he told her that her brother had died a human being.

Maybe, he thought as he wiped his eyes again, he just shouldn't tell her. Maybe it would be easier on her if she thought Alex had died weeks ago and Nero had just done what he'd been supposed to do and killed the man's killer. And maybe that line of reasoning was just an excuse, to get Nero out of the hard conversation he knew was coming.

Sitting here in the car pretending he didn't know what to say was another excuse. Nero knew exactly what he had to say. He took a breath, pulled his keys out of the ignition, and opened the door.

Erica Tasso lived in a fairly nice apartment complex, on the second floor of a three-story building next to playground. There was a snowman on the playground near the slide, in the center of an area of tamped-down snow, and Nero stared at it after he rang the doorbell just so he wouldn't have to look at the woman's face.

He heard her approach the other side of the door, but it was a few moments before she opened it. He kept his eyes on the snowman.

"You did it, didn't you?" she said.

"I'm sorry," said Nero.

"No, no, it's ..." She paused, sniffed, and then in the corner of his eye Nero saw her trying to hand him something. "Did you find Melissa?"

"Yeah," said Nero. "She was already dead. The demon was ..." He stopped himself. Erica didn't really need to hear about the blood in the bucket.

She took his hand and pushed an envelope into it. "Thank you," she said.

Nero finally turned toward her, and tried to give it back. "I can't take this."

"Please." Her voice cracked. "Please, just take it."

 _And go._ Nero wanted to go. Dante was right - getting involved in clients' lives was not a good idea - but it was different this time. "I'm sorry," said Nero again. "I can't ..."

He wanted to tell her. He wanted her to be angry at him, to yell at him, to say all the things to him that he was saying to himself. The words somehow got locked up, and he couldn't get them out.

"You don't ..." She put a hand to her mouth. "Please, just ..."

Nero took a step back, because what else could he do? She closed the door, and hard, ugly sobs started up behind it.

He looked down at the envelope in his hand; it was shaking, and he couldn't tell if he was just starting to shiver in the deepening cold or if it was the impending breakdown he could feel pressing against his sternum. His eyes were starting to blur again, and he didn't want to start crying here in front of the apartment door so he returned to his car and did it there.

He'd killed a human being. He'd killed a human being, and his victim's sister had paid him for it. With his arms folded against the steering wheel and his head buried in them, Nero cried until he was choking on the tears, until the constriction around his ribs burned.

It was fully dark now, and the cold crept into the car. Eventually Nero had to pull himself together and start the engine to get the heater going. "Damn," he said. He wasn't cried out yet, but he needed to get moving. The sister didn't really need to see him sitting in his car down here if she happened to look out the window.

The blood on his leg was drying, and he could feel it tugging his skin. He tried to ignore it as he put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, but it was impossible to put it out of his mind. He put his loudest CD in the player and turned it up, and maybe that helped to drive out some of the terrible thoughts.

 _I killed someone._ Even when the thought itself wasn't in Nero's mind, the knowledge remained. The drive home felt absolutely unreal.

There was no light in the office windows when Nero arrived. That could mean a lot of things, and Nero wasn't sure which interpretation he would prefer to be true. The door was locked when he tried it, which ruled out Dante having fallen asleep at his desk again, but there were still a number of options left. Nero thought he was prepared for any of them.

The building was quiet and cold, and as soon as Nero had the lights on he spotted the notepad in the center of the desk. The writing on the top page was Dante's elegant and flowing script. _At Lady's. Don't wait up._

Nero had thought he was prepared for anything. He wasn't.

Rage detonated in what felt like a literal explosion through Nero's body, and he flipped Dante's desk and threw it into the wall. Then he flipped it again and threw it against the base of the stairs. There it struck some of Dante's audio equipment, and Nero _beat_ the upturned desk until it cracked and shattered under his clawed fist.

Then he collapsed on the floor next to the broken desk, and just cried.

* * *

Nero slept badly, trapped in dreams that kept turning toward Alex's frightened swearing and warm blood. He woke from them over and over, but never fully, and ended up in a half-dream state in which he begged forgiveness from a corpse.

The opening of the front door finally roused him and chased the dreams away. The windows were bright with mid-morning, and he scrubbed a hand over his face to clear his vision as Dante walked in, and then stopped cold just inside the doorway.

"... what happened here?" asked Dante.

"I had a bad day," said Nero.

"You had a bad day." Dante closed the door and walked over to survey the wreckage. "So you decided to make sure the furniture had a bad day, too."

"What do you care? You weren't here." _Damn_ was it cold. Nero tried to keep as much blanket on himself as possible as he reached for a shirt.

Dante pulled one of the desk's legs, trying to turn a piece of it upright, but the leg splintered away in his hand. "Wow," he said.

Once Nero had a shirt on he dug out a clean-ish pair of jeans, and swapped the soft pants he slept in for those. The clothes were frigid, and he shivered before they warmed against his skin. Dante pulled a few more pieces of his desk away from the speakers under the stairs, then straightened up and looked around, and spotted what he was searching for next to the wall.

He turned around and showed Nero that framed picture of Trish he kept. "If you'd broken this," said Dante, "I'd be really mad at you right now."

"I don't care if you're mad or not," said Nero. He had no intention of apologizing, but he had sort of expected Dante to be furious and the lack of fury kind of threw him. He pulled on a hoodie, then a second one, because that was the only way to stay warm these days. "Why aren't you mad?"

"It's just stuff," said Dante. He crossed the room and put the picture down on the coffee table. "You hungry?"

"No," Nero lied. He didn't want to spend any time at all with Dante, and he especially didn't want to get close enough to smell Lady on him.

Dante gave Nero an expectant look, saying, "You just woke up."

"Yeah? And I'm not hungry." Nero shrugged on his good wool coat, and started to put on his boots. He was angry that Dante _wasn't_ angry. This would be easier if Dante were angry.

"Well, okay. Did you break the phone?" Dante found the phone as he said it. Like the photograph, it had fallen when the desk had hit the back wall, and was still there on the floor.

"No," said Nero, although he'd come close last night, when it had started to beep at him to let him know the receiver was off the cradle. It occurred to him that he ought to do his laundry as long as he was out, and Nero picked up the bag with his dirty clothes.

A bit of blood had seeped through the cloth from his coat inside. That was _human_ blood. He had a piece of a human being in that bag, soaked into his coat.

Nero's fingers lost their strength as that fact struck him in the face, and he dropped the bag and took a step back away from it. For a moment he couldn't breathe. He'd killed a person, and brought a piece of that dead person _home with him._

"Hey, hey." Dante was suddenly on Nero's side of the room and touching him on the shoulder, and Nero tried to strike the hand away because he was a _murderer_ and he didn't want to be touched. Dante ignored it and stepped closer. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Nero, but he couldn't conceal the way he was shaking. "Don't touch me." He turned away, because the guilt and the horror and everything was coming up once again, and if he wasn't careful he was going to break down right in front of Dante.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Dante's voice was so _gentle._ Nero's self control almost broke under it.

Nero stepped away, getting away from that hand on his shoulder, and he couldn't answer because he knew his voice was going to crack if he tried, and if he heard his own voice crack he was going to lose the delicate balance holding everything in check.

"Nero," said Dante, quietly. "Let me help."

 _"You can't help!"_ Nero had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep the sobs in. He was a murderer. He'd _killed_ someone. That couldn't be undone, not by any power in the world.

"Will you at least tell me what happened?"

That almost made Nero laugh, and he had to stifle that as well but it somehow settled the roil of emotions a bit. There was no need to lie about this, so he didn't; maybe it would finally make Dante angry at him. "I, ahhh, sort of murdered someone yesterday."

_"... what?"_

"I didn't mean to do it. Maybe that makes it manslaughter." Again he had an urge to laugh, but it felt crazed this time and Nero bit his knuckles to try to hold it in.

There was a long pause before Dante said, "Tell me what happened. Please."

The older hunter didn't press, and Nero took his time getting a grip on himself, taking in long and steadying breaths to get the hysteria under control. "A guy had changed himself into a demon somehow," he said, when he felt like he could stay coherent. "I don't know how. But when I got him down he'd ... changed back. Into a human." Nero took another slow breath, but the more terrible emotions from earlier had retreated somewhat. "He was a human being, but I'd _taken his arm off._ Dante, I'd taken his arm completely off!"

"You know devils can shapeshift, kid," said Dante.

"That's not what I mean! I don't mean he _looked_ like a human! I mean he _was_ one!" Nero wiped his eyes clear, and sniffled back the moisture in his nose. "The demon just somehow _left_ him. It left him and he bled to death, because I got _careless_ and chopped off his arm."

"I see."

The words weren't judgmental at all, and Nero's emotions warped instantly into anger. "He was a _person._ I killed a person, and his blood got all over me, and ..." And then he took money for having done that, and he brought the blood home with him like a fucking trophy or something, and now he was planning to wash it out and pour the residue down the drain like dirt.

Nero had to put his hand over his mouth again, feeling a little nauseated.

"Did the body start to decay right away?" asked Dante. "Like devil corpses do."

"That doesn't make any difference," said Nero. "He was human, and I murdered him."

"It makes a difference, kid. You know it does."

"It doesn't."

"You know it does," said Dante again. "You know devils can't just release humans like you're saying. It was still there. It was probably just trying to screw with you. If it fell apart afterward you were killing a devil and not a human."

"You weren't there," said Nero. Dante knew _nothing._ "You didn't see it."

"Oh, kid," said Dante, like his heart was breaking. "I don't have to have seen it. I know you didn't murder anybody."

 _Fuck._ He sounded like he believed it. But how could he? Nero had _killed a guy,_ a guy with a sister, with who knew what other family. A guy who'd fucked up and invited a devil into his life, but that didn't make it okay to just cut him down. How could Dante just stand there and _absolve_ Nero of that?

After a few moments, Dante continued, "Devils don't simply possess people. This man you think you killed ... he had to have given up his soul. He wasn't there anymore, not really. Like those people on Fortuna ... that wasn't them, Nero. Those devils had people's memories and personalities, but they _weren't human."_

"Easy for you to say," said Nero.

"No, it isn't easy for me to say. Do you think that's never happened to me?"

"Whatever." Dante hadn't been there.

"Please," said Dante. "Believe me."

Again Nero had to cover his mouth, not for nausea this time but because he felt that breakdown coming and he needed to hold it in. He needed to keep the sobs inside, the tears inside. He couldn't fall apart, not here, not with Dante _right there._

"It's happened to me," said Dante. "I've seen it. They do it to fuck with you."

"It worked," said Nero, and his voice did crack, and the crack did shatter his fragile hold over his emotions, and he started crying again as he remembered how terrified Alex had been as he'd died. He put his hand over his mouth to stifle it, but it was too enormous, pressing too hard against his throat.

"Kid," said Dante, and he touched Nero again on the shoulder.

Nero again struck it away and took another step toward the bar. "Don't fucking touch me!"

"Okay. But please, believe me. You're not a murderer. You killed a devil. Don't do this to yourself."

It was beyond humiliating to be standing there, struggling not to start gasping out tears with his back turned, but Nero couldn't get it under control. He _wanted_ to believe what Dante was saying, but all he could think about was the body in his lap, shivering and gasping and then going still. He'd done that. He'd pulled Yamato on the guy. _Yamato._ He knew better, and he'd done it anyway.

Once the sobs retreated a bit, Nero looked down at his devil bringer, shining brightly in response to Dante. He didn't _remember_ pulling Yamato. He'd had one of those blackout panic moments, and just kind of had the sword in his hand at the end of it. His mind shied away from the panic attack itself - thinking about them too much could trigger one - and instead focused on exactly how dangerous it was that his body had reached for Yamato while his brain was checked out.

"Dante," he said, and he almost had his voice under control. "I want you to take Yamato for a while."

"Why?"

 _Don't ask me any damned questions!_ Nero choked a little, and raised his right hand, and _pulled;_ with a flash of light, the sheathed sword appeared in his grasp. He wiped his eyes again with his left hand, and turned around. "Take it."

Dante looked ... devastated. He looked like _he'd_ been the one to murder someone by mistake, and when he glanced down at Yamato in Nero's hand it was like he couldn't believe any of this was happening. Nero really didn't need that; he didn't need Dante mourning Alex, too, or whatever the man was feeling that made him look that way.

"That's yours," said Dante.

"I'm giving it back."

"No." Dante raised his hands. "It's yours."

Suddenly furious, Nero flung the sword at him, and Dante caught it just to keep it from hitting him in the face. "I don't want it!" Nero said, and he was half-crying again but too angry this time to care. "I don't want it anymore! Take the fucking thing and get it away from me!"

"Nero," said Dante. "You didn't kill a human being."

"Shut the hell up." Nero half-hiccuped, and he wiped his eyes and nose again and took a deep breath to try, once more, to get himself under control. "It's too dangerous for me to have that thing right now. Keep it away from me."

That was too much. Nero could tell by the way confusion clouded over Dante's features; he'd said too much. "... what?" Dante asked.

"I just don't want it anymore." Nero leaned down to pick up the clothes bag. He had to get out of here before he said anything else.

"Too dangerous _how?"_

Nero didn't respond at all. He swept his car keys off the table and threw the bag over his shoulder, and walked out.

He'd forgotten his gloves, and the cold bit straight into the fingers on his left hand as he fumbled his car door open, but he wasn't going back for them. He never wanted to go back. Whatever Dante was thinking right now, Nero didn't want to face it. A little disjointedly, he tried to figure out what it would take for him to just never go back into that building, but he was still half-crying and his mind was so scattered right now it took him two tries to get his keys in the ignition.

He was halfway to the laundromat when he realized he'd also forgotten his gun, _and_ he no longer had Yamato. If something were to ambush him, he'd have only himself and Nevan, a weapon he'd never used in combat and wasn't even sure _how_ to use in combat.

"Whatever," he muttered to himself. If something ambushed him, maybe he'd just let it eat him. That would be one way out of this self-hatred.

* * *

While his clothes were in the dryer, Nero went to the park.

The city had mostly cleared the plaza, but the grass was still covered in snow and a lot of children had turned out to play in it. Nero didn't have any real experience with snow, but the kids were building forts out of it and flinging it at one another. Despite the cold it actually looked kind of fun.

And it _was_ cold. Nero pulled the skirts of his coat as far down over his thighs as he could, but his coat was simply inadequate by itself and he couldn't stop shivering. The bench was cold under his rear and his feet were cold in his boots, and his left hand was cold in his pocket. His ears ached from the cold.

He shouldn't have come out here. He should have stayed in the laudromat where it was warm, but kicking back in the park next to the statue of Sparda during the dry cycle was a habit, and he kind of thought he deserved to be uncomfortable. He'd killed someone yesterday, after all.

Had Dante been right? It seemed like a terrible betrayal to even think that might be the case, but ... Alex Tasso's body _had_ started to disintegrate within minutes after death, long before Nero's little crying jag in the vacant machine shop had finished. Nero hadn't thought about it at the time, because he'd _known_ that there had been a devil in that body at the beginning of the fight, but maybe that meant there'd been a devil in it at the end, too.

Some part of Nero wanted to believe it, but that only made him hate himself harder. His guilt was _justified._ He'd killed a human being. He _should_ feel awful for killing someone, and he shouldn't just blow it off and make himself feel better by grasping for excuses.

But what if it wasn't an excuse? What if it was the truth? Dante knew more about these things. Dante had been at this a lot longer, and he'd been raised knowing he was half-devil with whatever kind of education that implied. Maybe he knew what he was talking about.

Nero leaned down, afraid he might be about to break down again. How could he even think these things? How could he let Dante's words make him feel less horrible? How could he even _begin_ to believe these excuses for what he'd done? He'd _killed a guy._ He couldn't bring Alex Tasso back to life, but at least he ought to _feel bad_ about having cut him down. Nero remembered the body on his lap, the warm blood soaking into his jeans, the gasps for air and the terror in the man's voice, and his throat tightened painfully. That was what he wanted. That was what he _ought_ to carry with him.

Snow was piled on Sparda's head and arms, and on the neck and rump of his horse. Sparda hadn't gone around killing human beings, and Nero had no doubt that Sparda would have done the right thing back in that vacant building, whatever that might have been. Nero was a long way from the silver-haired toddler who had faithfully prayed and believed, but he remembered praying and believing, and he knew that Sparda would have done right by Alex.

He didn't want to feel better, or even less bad. Somehow it was happening anyway. Alex's body had started to disintegrate, the way any demon's might, and that ... could mean that Nero had killed a demon. A demon who had tried to fuck with him, and had drawn on Alex's memories to pretend to be him. What if Nero had had something on him that would have let him stop the bleeding? He would have used it! Maybe the human he'd apparently seen had just been a projection from a devil, in extremis and desperate. Maybe his guilt was just playing into the hands of a devil trying to hurt its killer any way it could.

Maybe Sparda would have done the same thing Nero had done.

Nero didn't know how he could justify these excuses he was making, but that didn't stop him from making them. He wanted to feel terrible, but apparently that didn't matter.

* * *

It was early afternoon when Nero pushed open the door to the office, unsure what kind of reception awaited him but certain he wasn't going to like it.

The pieces of Dante's desk were gone, except for two of the drawers, and all of the stuff that had been inside the desk was piled into those two. The speakers had been pulled out from under the stairs but it wasn't clear if any of them were damaged. Dante himself was on the couch and looked like he'd been napping, but he was awake when Nero walked in.

"Hey," said Nero. Whatever Dante was going to say about the way he'd fallen apart like that, Nero was going to face it and deal with it. He'd warmed up in the car, but the cold clung to him as he crossed the room with his bag of now-clean laundry, and he shivered.

Dante stood as Nero approached, and he had Yamato in his hand. "Nero," he said, and Nero didn't let him get any farther.

"I'm fine."

"Okay. But why do you think it's _dangerous_ for you to have Yamato on you?"

Hell. Why hadn't Nero kept his damned mouth shut? He couldn't even have an emotional meltdown without fucking something up. "I don't want it anymore." He brushed past Dante and moved to the side of the couch, where he kept his clean clothes stacked inside his zipped-open duffel bag, and sat down to fold the ones in his bag. "That's all."

"Yeah, no. That makes no sense."

"I just don't _want it."_

"But _why_ don't you want it?"

"I don't because I don't! Fucking hell, Dante!" Nero couldn't look at Dante, though; he kept his eyes on his clothes. "Leave me alone, okay?"

Dante hesitated. "Nero," he said. "Please. Talk to me."

Nero stopped folding clothes, and let his hands drop into his lap. He couldn't. He _couldn't_ tell Dante about the panic attacks. There was no way to predict what Dante might do if he knew, but all of the possibilities were terrible. Nero could deal with this on his own. He could handle it. He was okay.

"Leave me alone," said Nero again, more quietly now.

Another hesitation, longer, and then Dante set the sword down on the coffee table. "I'm here if you need me," he said.

A bitter little half-bark of a laugh escaped Nero. "Yeah."

"There's pizza if you want it."

Nero wasn't sure what to say to that. He hadn't eaten anything yet that day and he _was_ hungry, but his stomach was still somewhat twisted up about what he'd done to Alex Tasso. He was sure he could eat without getting sick now, but wasn't sure he _should._ By the time he was done folding his clothes, though, hunger and a desire to go back to normal had won. "Yeah. Where is it?"

Dante had stashed it on the speakers. There were four pieces left, cold now, but Nero didn't mind cold pizza.

"Morrison will be coming by in two or three hours with a new desk," said Dante. He swiped a magazine out of one of the disembodied drawers and sat down on the steps with it. "There'll probably be some delivery people. Don't be surprised when they get here."

Nero paused mid-chew, unable to believe he'd just heard that right, and when he swallowed it went down hard. "I'm not _dangerous,"_ he said, outraged.

But then Dante glanced toward the coffee table, and Nero had to turn away. Fuck.

"I'm not dangerous," he said again, but he knew that he was, and although it hadn't been his intention, he'd certainly gone out of his way to make sure Dante knew it, too.

* * *

The new desk only somewhat resembled the old one. It had a similar dark finish and was carved, but the carvings were less ornate and the feet didn't quite fit into the marks the old desk had left on the floor. It, like the old one, was clearly an ill-cared-for antique and it came through the door already scuffed, although it looked like someone had at least made the attempt to put some stain into the scuff marks.

Like the old one, it didn't match the chair. Dante plunked the chair behind it and put his feet up on it as soon as the delivery people left, and declared it perfect.

"Hey," he said, when Morrison was about to leave as well. "Find out how much it would cost to have the windows weatherstripped, and maybe double-glazed."

Morrison looked around the room doubtfully. "Weatherstripping is cheap," he said. "Double-glazing is not. You're talking about replacing the windows."

"Find out, at least," said Dante. "It's fucking cold in here, and we're tired of it."

"I'll call around, but I can't promise you'll be able to afford it." He paused to give the windows an appraising look, and then counted them and promised to call the following day with an estimate.

Once Morrison was gone, Nero gestured at the desk and asked, "How much was that?"

"Pfft. Don't worry about it."

"I probably ought to pay you for it." Nero still had his blood money in his coat, after all. He didn't feel bad about destroying the other desk, but he thought he ought to take responsibility for having done it.

"This is probably the fourth time I've had to buy a new desk," said Dante. "You're hardly the first thing to go after the furniture like it offended you on a personal level."

Nero pulled the envelope out of his coat anyway, and tossed it down onto the desk top. "That's what I got yesterday."

"You don't have to keep giving me everything you collect, kid."

Fury ripped through Nero, and he picked the envelope back up so he could fling it at Dante's face. "Fucking take it!" he said.

Dante caught it, and gave Nero a questioning look as he opened it that Nero returned with a glare. He counted the cash, and he kept his opinion of the amount to himself; instead, he said, "You didn't murder anyone."

"Whatever." Nero went over to the couch and flopped onto it. He was uncomfortable being so close to Yamato, but he didn't dare touch the weapon, not even to move it. He picked up his book carefully, so he wouldn't have to.

"If I need to, I'll say it over and over, until you believe it." Dante stood up and crossed the room to put the money into the safe behind the bar.

There was liquor back there. Nero rarely thought about it, but he remembered the booze when Dante went behind the bar to reach the safe. If there was ever a time when Nero could have used a drink, it was now. Maybe he'd hit it later after Dante went to bed.

Dante spent some time moving the stuff stacked in the drawers into the drawers of his new desk, and the layout of the drawers wasn't the same so he screwed with that for probably two hours. The sounds of Dante moving around and rearranging things weren't intrusive at first, and Nero was able to read without a problem, but there came a point when that was no longer true.

That was a demon over there, a powerful one, fiddling around. Nero's devil bringer never forgot. He could sometimes ignore the bright glow of it, and the prickle in his palm and fingers, but other times - like now - that became impossible. He could almost feel the way Dante moved through space without looking, as though the older devil were radiating heat or air.

It was irritating, like an itch but worse. Nero kept his eyes on his book, and occasionally turned a page, but he could no longer concentrate on the text. His mind instead imagined walking over there and slitting Dante's throat and lapping up the blood, which Nero attempted to squelch as soon as the image rose. _No._ He didn't actually want to do that, and it was disgusting that his mind would even go there.

He knew how Dante's blood tasted, though. Sour, salty, and something else laced through with power. He never got more than a taste off his talons, and Dante would stop him doing that much if he did it in front of the man. Not for the first time, Nero thought it was probably a good thing that Dante could wipe the floor with him, because now that it was in his head, he couldn't stop thinking about somehow pinning Dante to the wall and ripping into him.

It was well after dark by the time Dante was satisfied with the drawers, and then he went to take a shower. Nero put the book down so he could adjust his erection. The water came on, and it was easy enough to picture Dante in the shower, naked and wet, and vulnerable.

Damn. Getting Dante to jack him off had been good, but apparently not good enough after weeks of nothing. Nero was going to need to figure out how to get Dante to screw him without trying to hold him down, because this was only going to get worse until he did something about it.

The phone rang. It startled Nero, and his heart thudded twice. Then he swore because the panic hadn't hit him this time, but just the threat of it was apparently enough to make him flip a little. This was ludicrous.

He got to the phone and answered it. "Devil May Cry."

"Nero." It was Lady. "Is Dante there?"

Nero took three deep breaths, so that he could reply to her without screaming out his rage at the way she'd manipulated him into leaving the building yesterday. "No," he said, when he trusted his voice to be low enough that the water would cover it. "He's out. Don't know when he'll be back."

"Will he at least be back in tonight?"

"I doubt it. He said not to wait up for him."

"Damn." It wasn't clear if she was disappointed or annoyed; her tone could have gone either way. Nero heard her tap her nails. "Let him know I called, okay?"

"Sure. Bye." Nero hung up without waiting for a response.

Fucking hell. It was a good bit of luck that she'd called while Dante was in the shower, but fucking hell. Nero chewed on his finger as he looked at the bathroom door. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Approaching Dante for sex tonight had been an option before, but it had just turned into a requirement.

He'd have to do more than give Dante a blow job. Dante had taken one of those and gone straight to Lady the very next day, and damned if that didn't put a pit of nausea into Nero's stomach. No, he had to actually get Dante to fuck him. That wouldn't be difficult in the slightest; all Nero would have to do was ensure Dante was in a receptive mood and just ask.

And then as soon as the snarling started, Dante would grab him and pin him down, and ... Nero refused to even think about that.

If he hadn't needed a drink before, he certainly did now. Nero went behind the bar and rummaged a little, and found four bottles of liquor in one of the cabinets. He pulled out the whiskey, and took a swig straight from the bottle.

 _That_ was a mistake. Nero doubled over, choking and coughing as the stuff burned his mouth and throat like acid, and set his sinuses on fire. "Holy hell," he said, and his voice was even hoarse. _Shit._ Dante sometimes sipped this crap out of a _glass_ like it was water.

It sent a hard shiver up his spine, but once the coughing fit passed a flush of warmth went through Nero. He took a second drink, a more careful one this time, and managed to get it down without choking or snorting it up his nose. It still burned, and his stomach told him immediately that it wasn't pleased, but he got another warm flush and that felt pretty nice.

Maybe this would keep the horrible little flashbacks at bay, and let him get through a simple seduction unscathed. Nero knocked back the bottle again and managed to swallow three times before nausea hit him in the back of the throat and forced him to stop. Would that be enough? He hoped so, because he now felt like he'd just swallowed poison and it was going to be a challenge to keep the stuff down. Nero screwed the top on the bottle and tucked it back into the cabinet, and then pulled a beer out of the fridge to wash the taste of it out of his mouth.

It may have felt like poison in his stomach, but when Nero went back over to the new desk he was already a little buzzed. Okay, that was cool.

"You can do this," he told himself. He hiked himself up to sit on the edge of the desk and drank the rest of the beer, slowly, hoping it would settle his stomach. That seemed to kind of work, and when the can was empty he pitched it toward the trash. And missed. The can struck the rim and glanced off, onto the floor, and Nero stared at that for a moment before dissolving into giggles.

He could do this. He was already drunk enough to do this.

The water shut off, and a couple of minutes later Dante came out. Of course he was damp, and of course he was ridiculously sexy when he was damp and had no shirt on, and of course he was ridiculously devilish and Nero's right hand prickled in warning. Nero closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get control of the dual urges to slash Dante across the chest, and get down on his knees in front of that power.

"What's up?" Dante crossed the room, and Nero looked up to see a question written on the older hunter's features.

"I am," said Nero, and then he had to put a hand over his mouth to stifle the giggles.

That made a little half-smile quirk up the side of Dante's lips, but when he got to the desk he abruptly leaned forward and sharply inhaled next to Nero's face. "Damn," he said. "You hitting the Jack, kid?"

"The what?"

"If you want to get hammered, I've got better shit than that." Again Dante breathed in beside Nero's cheek, and he was now so near that it was the easiest thing in the word for Nero to drop his hands around Dante's waist and start to nuzzle the man's ear.

Dante made a strange sound, and Nero abruptly found himself crushed in a close embrace, with Dante's chin on his shoulder and Dante's arms around him. It felt weird, not sexual at all, and maybe it was just the liquor but Nero was completely at a loss.

"Please tell me what's going on," Dante whispered.

"Nothing's going on." Nero just needed Dante to fuck him. "I'm fine, Dante."

"Something is wrong." Dante kissed Nero's ear, and then the side of his face. "Please, _talk_ to me."

Oh, shit. Now Nero understood. He tried to shove Dante away, and Dante yielded and released him. "I'm _fine,"_ he said again, angry and, at the same time, terrified. Dante couldn't know. He couldn't let Dante know.

Although Dante had let Nero go, he didn't back away, and when he raised a hand to run his fingers through Nero's hair, Nero didn't resist. "You're not fine," said Dante.

He was smiling again, but it was a wretched kind of smile that twisted Nero up inside. As drunk as he was, Nero couldn't handle it. He could deal with Dante's thoughtlessness, but not this. He grabbed Dante by the shoulders and started to kiss him, trying to erase that smile that _didn't mean anything._ It didn't mean anything, it never _meant_ anything. Nothing Dante said or did ever _meant_ anything at all.

"Nero," Dante mumbled through the sloppy kisses, but Nero just kissed harder to shut him up. Dante kind of half-kissed back, but then Nero found his hands being pried off the older hunter and himself pushed backward.

It happened when his arms went wide. Dante didn't even have to hold him down; it was enough to just force Nero's arms apart. Nero was slammed back into that filthy basement, nailed to the wall and trying to breathe around the agony and blood in his lungs, knowing that he was moments from being impaled again. Panicked, he ripped at the rebar between his bones, and he was bizarrely able to get free, and then he wasn't in the basement anymore but being somehow restrained with his arms folded against his chest. Nero struck at whatever was holding him, and an entirely different flavor of panic hit him when he was just held more tightly.

"Shhh. Shhh." He was on the floor, Nero realized, through his terror and his drunkenness. He'd somehow wound up on the floor, and he was being held, and there was a hand in his hair pressing his cheek against warm skin. There was no blood in his lungs. The memory of pain was fading; there were no rebar spikes in his arm or his chest. His heart and breath were racing, but already starting to slow as he came back to the present.

He was being held, and it was Dante holding him, half in the man's lap and half on the floor.

"Fuck," said Nero, his voice weak and his entire body shaking. Dante shushed him again.

It had happened. He'd had an attack where Dante could see it, and now Dante knew, and now ...

"Don't," said Nero. He tried to push Dante away but his right arm was trapped sideways and couldn't get any leverage, and there was no strength in his muscles. "I'm okay, don't, I'm fine ..."

"Shhh," said Dante again, and he didn't _sound_ like he was about to go out and murder some people.

That helped, that Dante sounded so calm, and maybe the booze helped, too. Nero stopped resisting, and just tried to get the shaking and his breathing under control.

With his eyes closed, the alcohol gave Nero that pleasant floating sensation and made all of this feel like a dream. A horrible dream, because _that_ had happened right where Dante could see it. Nero didn't want to believe any of this, and the dreamlike feeling wrapped around him made it very tempting to just not.

His heartrate, not yet back to normal, and the trembling in his limbs kept him from even trying to deceive himself. "I'm okay," Nero whispered, and then he said it again. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

Dante spoke over him. "How long has this been going on?"

"I'm okay," said Nero, yet again.

"Months? Since the mob tortured you?"

That was a harsh word. Nero skipped right over it, and swallowed to get some moisture into his throat. "No. Two or three weeks. I was ..." Fine for a while. He'd been _perfectly okay,_ until just recently! "I don't know why ... I'm okay. I'm okay."

"Shhh," said Dante, and Nero realized his voice had started to rise. This was humiliating, being held like a child, but Nero was so drunk he couldn't fight it. It was only when he relaxed that Dante spoke again. "You could have told me."

"No, no," said Nero, rubbing his face against Dante's chest. "You were so furious, you were going to kill someone. You were going to kill everyone. And I'm _okay._ I can take care of myself. I'm not a _kid."_ Why was he saying this? Just the booze? The words seemed to keep coming, and Nero said them before he could even think about them. "I can handle it. I can deal with this. I don't need help. I'm not a kid, I don't need anyone's help."

"Shhh." Dante stroked Nero's hair.

Nero was too drunk and confused to know whether or not he liked that, but it didn't quiet him. The words kept draining out of him. "I can't know when it'll hit me. I mean, I know some things that set it off, but sometimes it comes out of nowhere, and then I just whip out Yamato and _cut someone in half."_ He laughed, but it came out wetly, intermixed with a sob, and then something heaved in his chest and Nero buried his face in Dante's shoulder to keep from breaking into tears. Everything after that was half-muffled, but he couldn't stop saying these things. "I can't _control_ it. Dante, I _can't control it._ It just hits me, and shit happens and I don't even _remember it_ afterward!"

"I wish you'd told me," Dante whispered, and Nero felt the older hunter kiss the top of his head.

"I couldn't. I couldn't." With that, the words trickled to a halt, and Nero took in a great gasp of air to get his breathing in check.

This was absolutely humiliating, but Nero didn't try to get free, because Dante was holding him and it felt ... so much like what he wanted. He was drunk enough that his usual reaction to something like this - to fight it off and get away from it - was dulled. It was going to hurt like hell to remember this the next time Dante did something to demonstrate that he didn't care, but the liquor made Nero less concerned with that than he should have been; it felt too good to be held close to do anything about it.

He relaxed and let Dante hold him, while the guilt faded and his breathing became even. He could feel himself becoming more and more intoxicated, and sleepy at the same time. With his eyes closed, he could just drift.

After a while - how long, Nero couldn't guess - Dante said softly, "Going to sleep on me?"

"I'd like to." The words came out slurred.

Dante eased an arm under Nero's knees and, in a smooth motion, stood up and picked up Nero with him. Oh, _fuck,_ Dante was going to _carry_ Nero, like he was a five-year-old or something, and Nero was too drunk to even object properly. All he could do was mumble about how much bullshit this was, and then kind of half-laugh again because he'd had _no idea_ that a couple of swallows of whiskey could knock him this far back on his ass.

It took several moments for Nero to realize that Dante was bringing him upstairs, and he had it together enough to say, "No, no, no, no." He was _not_ going to sleep in Dante's bed.

"Shhh," said Dante, and Nero was just too drunk to do anything about it. Dante carried him through the bedroom door and laid him down on the bed, and started to pull off his boots.

"Fuck," said Nero, and he just let Dante undress him. He was beyond humiliation at this point. What had _possessed_ him to hit that bottle?

Dante stripped him down to his underwear and then pulled the blanket around him, and Nero grabbed Dante's hand. He started kissing the calloused fingers, trying to draw Dante down into the bed with him. "Fuck me," he whispered.

"Maybe later." Dante leaned down to give Nero a gentle kiss. Nero opened his mouth to deepen it and Dante complied with the request, but Nero couldn't keep it going. He barely noticed when Dante's mouth left his, and didn't hear Dante leave the room.

Nero woke the next morning with a horrific taste in his mouth and, when he moved, what was unmistakably a hangover. "Damn," he said, swallowing against nausea. He hadn't had a hangover since the last time he'd tried to drown an uncontrollable rage in a bottle of wine.

The pillow under his head smelled like Dante's hair, and the memory of the night before came back to him immediately. Nero struggled to get out of the tangle of blankets around him, and then laid down on the cool wood floor and held his head as he contemplated just how much hell was waiting for him downstairs. Dante had _fucking hugged him._ He didn't even want to _think_ about what kind of opinion the man had of him now. Dante already called him a kid at every opportunity, and last night Nero had acted like one.

There was some music going downstairs on the jukebox, something fast and cheerful, and the crawling sensation in Nero's devil bringer told him that Dante wasn't that far away. He wondered how long he could pretend that he was still asleep, but of course that was stupid; he'd freeze, for one thing, and for another he needed to take a piss. Moving carefully, he pulled on his clothes from the day before. Another spell of nausea hit him in the middle of it, but he sat down on the floor to deal with it and it eventually went away.

Dante was seated behind his new desk, and he looked up when Nero came down the stairs. "How you feeling, kid?"

"Terrible." Nero went to the bar to get a glass, and took it in the bathroom with him.

"Let me know what you want to do for breakfast."

Nero scowled. He hadn't checked the time, but it had to be close to noon; there was _no_ reason for pizza to not be already on the way. After he used the toilet and washed the crud out of his mouth, he walked back out. "I don't even know if I could eat anything. Why don't you do whatever."

"Are you sure?"

Irritated, Nero said, "I wouldn't say it if I weren't sure!"

This was horrible. Nero had only been awake ten minutes and it was already horrible.

The phone rang then, and Nero's heart jumped in his chest. He blanked out for a second, although the panic didn't hit him; it was, again, fear of the fear.

 _You're fine,_ he told himself. _It's just the phone._ No problem. No panic. He ran his hand over his face and went to the pool table.

"Devil May Cry," said Dante. After a pause, he said, "Nowhere. Why?"

Nero started to collect the pool balls out of the pockets. Dante said, "Oh, wait. When was this? Yeah, I was out."

Fuck. Nero could already fill in the other half of that conversation in his mind. On the heels of that minor episode he had just now at the phone ringing, he had to put his hand to his mouth to keep a grip. The song on the jukebox ended and another one began, a melodic techno thing.

 _"Out,"_ said Dante, and his voice was harder now. "You're not my mother. I don't have to call you when I'm going to be home late. No, and not tomorrow either." A pause. "I have no idea. Probably next week. I know. _I know._ This is unavoidable, okay? _I know._ I'm sorry, I know, but ... yeah."

Nero glanced up as he racked the balls; Dante had a hand over his face. "Yeah," said Dante. "I'm sorry. I just ... Something came up, okay? No." Another pause. _"No._ Look, I don't really want to talk about this. I'm sorry. I'll call you next week and you can yell at me then. Right. Okay. Bye."

Dante dropped the receiver back into the cradle and lowered his head to gently bang his forehead on the top of his desk.

"Sorry," said Nero. "She did call yesterday."

"Yeah," said Dante. "I kind of figured that out." He raised his head and ran a hand through his hair, and then gave Nero a tired kind of smile. "What are we going to do, kid?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come here." Dante raised a hand, and Nero just looked at it. What the hell? After a moment, Dante said, "Please, Nero. Let me touch you, just this one time."

Nero had no clue why that would be important, but he walked over anyway and put his left hand into Dante's. It was a shock, to say the least, when Dante brought Nero's hand to his lips and kissed his fingers.

"What do _you_ want to do?" asked Dante.

"About what? My panic attacks? What's there to do? I can't control them."

"Do you still want to take jobs?"

Nero flinched at the very suggestion, but he had to work at it to say it out loud. The enormity of the meaning behind that question was like a physical weight in Nero's throat. "I, ah ..." He swallowed. _I'm fine. I'm perfectly okay._ "I'm all right."

Dante held Nero's fingers against his mouth, and he looked up at Nero's face with the question still in his eyes. Nero tried to summon some anger to help him resist that look, but for once his rage failed him and he found himself turning away.

"I'm all right," he repeated. "I'm not ... I'm not broken."

"Nobody said you were broken, kid." Dante pressed the back of Nero's hand to his cheek. "Something terrible happened to you. You're entitled to some time off."

Nero snatched his hand away, and took a step back and out of reach. "I'm not _broken,"_ he said again, but there was something like fear lurking under his voice, and even he could hear it.

"So you want to keep working?" asked Dante.

 _Yes._ Nero opened his mouth to say it, but then couldn't. He wasn't safe. He couldn't control himself. He didn't even dare have Yamato within grabbing distance. "... I don't know."

"It's one or the other. You can't have it both ways."

"I know that! But ..." Damn. Nero ran a hand over his face, and he tried to believe that the sudden queasiness in his stomach was the hangover. He was _okay._ But at the same time, he remembered the blood soaking through his jeans.

"We're not talking about forever," said Dante. "You can take some time to get your shit together, and pick up devil hunting again later. I mean, if you still want to do it later."

"I don't want to mooch off of you."

Dante gave a kind of half-laugh. "Kid, have you noticed that you've been doing almost all the work around here since you got here? I think I might enjoy actually killing some devils again."

"That's bullshit. I only do the easy ones. The ones you shouldn't have to waste your time on."

"That's been almost all of them."

"You're the son of Sparda," said Nero. "You shouldn't have to spend your time killing bugs."

"The point," said Dante, "is that you've earned the time off, if you want to take it."

Could Nero do that? Just hang around the office and hope he stopped cringing every time the phone rang? "I'm not broken," he said.

"Nobody said you were."

Nero moved to the window and looked out at the road; it was snowing again, damn it. Even thinking about just _giving up_ this way pushed him toward despair, but Dante was right. Nero was a danger to himself and others. He knew it, and he'd known it yesterday when he'd handed over Yamato. He needed to hang up his weapons for a while. Not forever, just ... while he got his head on straight.

He didn't say anything, and it seemed that he didn't need to. The chair clattered as Dante stood up. "You may not be hungry," said the older hunter, "but I am. Do you want to come with me?"

"Yeah, I guess." May as well. "Can I get a shower first?"

"Anything you need."

Now it was Nero's turn to not-really-laugh. What he _needed_ was to stop being pathetic, but Dante couldn't give him that.

* * *

Dante put Yamato in the back room where he kept his other devil arms. He said Nero could have it back as soon as he was ready for it again, but Nero was just relieved to have the thing out of sight.

Morrison came by again in early afternoon. A thorough weatherstripping of all the windows was going to be about two hundred dollars. New windows? "Three grand," said Morrison.

"Damn," said Dante. "Are they gold-plated?"

"No, just enormous. Have you seen how big a couple of your windows are?"

"They're transparent, so obviously not."

"There's another option," said Morrison. "You can get a clear plastic film that you attach over the window opening to block the drafts. Not as good as new windows, and it doesn't look that great, but it's probably more in your price range."

"We're getting curtains anyway. Probably lacy pink ones."

"Hah," said Nero, irritated.

"You can do both. And, ah ... one other thing." Morrison reached into his coat and pulled out a sheet of folded newsprint, which he partially unfolded and held out to Dante across the desk. "I'm sure you haven't been following the news."

Dante peered at the paper, then snatched it out of Morrison's hand and read the story at the top of the page with an expression that grew increasingly aghast. "You're fucking kidding me," he said.

"I'll bring permit applications by as soon as they're available."

"A _permit?"_ Dante demanded. "I have to get a _permit?_ They're not even loaded!"

"Unfortunately nobody included an exception for devil hunters," said Morrison.

Nero put his book down. "I don't follow," he said.

"A fucking _permit!"_ said Dante.

"The state General Assembly passed a gun control bill yesterday," said Morrison. "It hasn't been signed into law yet, but everyone expects that to happen in the next few days. It doesn't go into effect until June, so you have lots of time to get permits."

"A permit for what?" asked Nero.

Morrison smiled. "To carry your guns around with you, the way both of you always do."

Dante threw the paper on the floor and then threw himself into his chair. "This is insane," he said. "Mine aren't even loaded."

"I don't think this is going to be a problem," said Morrison. "All you need to do is get a concealed carry permit, and all you need for _that_ is a clean background check and the ability to show you can safely handle your weapons. That's all."

"This is insulting," said Dante.

"That may be, but it's also the law now." Morrison put his hat back on and gave Nero a wave. "Call me when you decide what you want to do about the windows."

Dante glared at the wall after Morrison left, and he looked so dire that Nero was actually a little concerned. "A fucking permit."

"I don't get why we need permission to have weapons," said Nero.

"It's because humans are idiots who kill each other," said Dante. "We're just collateral damage. Fuck." He banged his hand down on the desk and then started chewing on his thumbnail. "I hate gun laws."

Nero didn't see why this was a big deal from any side of it - neither why the state felt a need to make them get paperwork for something they were going to do anyway, nor why Dante seemed to take it so personally - but his mind latched onto something different. "What do you mean," he said, "that your guns are unloaded?"

"I know you like the material bullets, kid, but not all of us are into that."

Did that make sense? Nero thought about it. No, that didn't make sense. "What are you talking about?"

Dante's eyes flicked to Nero, and his frown eased. "What?" he said. "You don't know?"

"Know _what?"_

The man actually laughed a little. "Damn, I thought you were doing that by choice."

Holy hell, Nero was going to walk over there and punch him if he didn't knock this shit off. "Why can't you use words like a normal person? _The fuck are you talking about?"_

"My guns don't fire bullets, kid." Dante picked up Ebony and pulled the magazine, and showed it to Nero. It was completely empty. "I create the ammunition in the chamber just before I pull the trigger." He slid the magazine back into the grip. "It's not hard. I could probably teach you how to do it. I would have offered before, but I thought you _liked_ using regular bullets."

This ... actually explained some things. "Yeah, no," said Nero with lingering irritation. "I use them because I have to."

"I doubt you actually have to. Tomorrow, if nothing comes up, maybe we should head out of town and see if you can learn."

Nero thought about it, and he kind of liked that idea. "Maybe," he said. "But today, I think we should buy some curtains."

 _"We?_ I thought that was your project."

"If you leave it to me, I'll buy the pink lace for sure. You know that stuff is like heroin to me."

Dante smiled, and stood up. "So I need to get between you and the smack. Got it. A thankless job, but I suppose someone has to do it." He slid his guns into his coat. "You'll have to pay me, though."

"Hah," said Nero. "I have zero cash on me. I was about to tell you to bring some." He stood up as well, and picked up his own gun from the table.

"Hmmm." Dante moved into Nero's personal space and lowered his voice. "Then I guess you have to pay me with a kiss."

"Wow. That's a high price." Nero leaned forward, closing the space left between them. "I don't know if I can afford that."

"I accept sexual favors in trade."

Nero was brought up short with his lips an inch from Dante's. He _was_ partially aroused just from being around Dante all day, and after he'd brushed off a similar pass a couple of days ago Dante had turned to Lady. He couldn't let that happen again ... but when he thought about going through with it, he felt his heart start to thump in anticipatory fear. Dante _would_ go nuts at some point, and _would_ hold him down, and then Nero _would_ have a panic attack.

Something about his hesitation spoke to Dante. "I'm just messing with you, kid."

"No, no." Nero put his hands on Dante's hips. "I know."

"What's the matter?"

Nero shook his head. "Nothing."

Dante brushed his lips against Nero's and whispered, "Please talk to me."

It was tempting. Dante did know about the panic attacks now, after all. Nero would only be admitting to how bad they were, and Dante no doubt already had some ideas about that, given that he'd watched Nero have one.

That would make it too real, though. Nero didn't want to feel like he was broken, and talking about how broken he was could only make it more real than he wanted it to be. "I'm okay," he said. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just ... not in the mood right now."

"... all right. Can I still get a kiss?"

That was perfectly safe, and the anxiety drained out of Nero as he opened his mouth for a slow kiss that made no demands on him at all.

* * *

They came home after dark with heavy packages of drapery and a bunch of hardware needed to install them. Nero had picked out the curtains. Dante had gone along with them so Nero had to assume that at least the older hunter didn't _hate_ them, but Dante reacted to so many things with indifference. It was sometimes hard to figure out what he actually liked, so Nero hadn't bothered trying, and had just chosen what _he_ liked. What he liked turned out to be faux velvet, mainly because it had been marked down, and because it came in a shade of very dark brown that would not clash too badly with the paneling.

The store had given them instructions on how to install the hardware, and Nero figured he'd be doing all of it by himself. Dante, however, seemed to have made a different assumption. He set up the ladder and held the tape measure, read the instructions to Nero, and handed up screws and anchors and curtain rods when Nero needed them.

When the curtains were hung on the first window, Nero dropped off the ladder and said, "Okay, Dante. What gives?"

"What?" Dante reached out and brushed some dust out of Nero's hair.

"Why are you _helping?"_

Dante frowned. "Want me to stop?"

"No! But I want to know why you're not parked over there and just watching me do all the work."

The frown morphed into something else, something that raised Nero's hackles and made him want to punch the man in the face. "Look," Dante began, but Nero no longer wanted to hear it.

"I don't need your _pity,"_ said Nero, furious now. Dante wasn't touching him anymore, but he backed out of reach anyway just in case.

"It's not pity," said Dante.

"Whatever it is, I don't need it. I'm not any different. I'm not suddenly breakable."

"That's not what I think." But Dante didn't volunteer what he did think, and Nero didn't care so he didn't ask.

Nero put up a second set of curtains and then called it a night; it was late, and he was dusty, and spending so many hours so close to Dante was doing things to him. It was kind of satisfying, though, to be able to pull the heavy fabric across two of the windows and no longer feel a frigid draft right in front of them. He took a shower after that to get the dust off, and turned the heat up to warm himself as he washed the grime out of his hair.

Now he had a decision to make. Dante wanted sex, that was very clear, and Lady was calling. If Nero didn't want Dante to answer that call, he had to do something, tonight.

And it wasn't like he didn't want to! Being around Dante was like a constant low-level tease; Nero wasn't yet at the point where he started obsessing, but he'd reached the easily-aroused stage and had half an erection already. If Dante were to come into the bathroom right now and step into the shower with him, Nero would not refuse. He splayed his glowing talons on the tile and leaned his head against them, and stroked himself with his left hand. It would be fantastic to have Dante behind him, running hands over his chest and kissing his shoulders, and then fucking him hard. Knowing that he was pleasing Dante was half the thrill, but the other half was how incredible it felt to have Dante inside him.

How could he get that _without_ Dante triggering another panic attack? The moment Dante tried to pin him down ... Nero banished that thought immediately.

He had to do something. He had to keep Dante from going to Lady.

Nero shut off the water and grabbed a towel to step out of the shower. He had to do this. "You can do this," he said to himself, but doubt stirred a queer feeling in his belly.

Dante didn't even glance up when Nero came out of the bathroom, so Nero went over there and hopped up to sit on the edge of the desk. That got the man's attention, and he set down his magazine.

"What's this?" he asked.

"I was thinking about paying you for your help today," said Nero. Damn, it was cold, especially right out of the warm shower.

"I was kidding about that." But Dante took his feet off the desk and leaned forward, and touched the side of Nero's hand. Nero slid his hand into Dante's, and Dante seemed to take that as some kind of signal, leaning farther forward until his lips were against the side of Nero's arm.

"I'm not," said Nero.

With a soft sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, Dante kissed his way up to Nero's neck, half-climbing up onto the desk to do it. That was _really_ hot; the weird feeling disappeared from Nero's stomach, and he laid down on his back so that Dante could reach his lips. Dante settled his weight against the side of the desk where he could kiss Nero with ease, softly at first, but less so when Nero slid his talons into Dante's hair to pull him closer and sucked on the man's tongue. He wanted to be _fucked,_ not coddled.

Drawing back an inch, Dante whispered, "Tell me what you want."

 _Fuck me._ Did Nero dare say it? Did he want to take that risk? How could he not? Dante was going to go sleep with _Lady_ if Nero didn't take care of it first.

It occurred to him, right at that moment, that maybe he could just _ask_ Dante not to grab him and hold him down. Dante's self control during sex was questionable, but ...

The phone rang, right next to Nero's head, and panic shocked through him.

When it passed he was clutching Dante's shoulders, and Dante's arms were around him. "Shhh," said Dante. "Shhh."

Nero was suddenly cold, and shivering. "... what," he said, and his voice was shaking, too.

"Shhh," said Dante. The phone was still ringing, and over Nero's head Dante picked it up. "We're closed, call back tomorrow." The phone rattled as he hung it up again.

"I'm okay," said Nero. He _was_ okay. Just a little shaky. "Let me go."

Dante seemed reluctant, but complied after a moment and straightened up. Nero sat up as well. _Damn._ Nothing was going right for him. He took a breath and willed his heartrate to go back to normal. "I'm okay," he said again, although he was still trembling. "The phone ones aren't that bad."

"Not that bad," said Dante, disbelieving. _"That_ was _not that bad?_ What's bad by your standards?"

Irritation rose like heat in Nero's skin. "When I pull Yamato on some idiot and cut his arm off."

Dante just stared at him, which was aggravating. Nero pushed himself off the desk and walked away. Obviously there would be no seductions now. "I'm _fine,"_ he said. He reached for his book, and saw that there was blood on his claws. Dammit. "I cut right through your coat, didn't I?"

"Not a big deal," said Dante.

There wasn't a lot of blood, but Nero couldn't resist it; he brought his claws to his lips. There was no flavor to it, really - there wasn't enough of it - but it tingled on his tongue and sent an almost sexual flush through him. It settled his nerves instantly, and the trembling in his hands ceased. Too bad he'd cut Dante in the course of flipping out. The panic was completely gone and sex would be kind of welcome now, but he doubted Dante felt the same way anymore.

He heard Dante approach him from behind, but Nero had no idea what to say to the man so he didn't turn around.

"I need you to talk to me," said Dante.

"I'm okay," said Nero. The words were almost automatic at this point, and meaningless.

"Okay," agreed Dante. "But I need you to tell me ... what sets this off?"

Fuck. Nero ran his cleaned talons through his hair, then went to find a shirt, because curtains or no curtains it was hella cold. This had probably been inevitable. He ought to just get it over with. "Stupid shit," he said. "The phone ringing, but not always. If I have trouble breathing." He shook out a shirt and pulled it over his head. "I had one trying to write you a note, of all the idiotic things. And any time I ..." He swallowed, and forced himself to say it. "Any time I'm held down. And hell, who knows what else. I just found out about the note thing the other day." He laughed a little. "There might be more fun surprises for me to find."

"... I don't know how I missed this. Kid, I'm sorry. I don't know how I didn't see this until now."

"I didn't want you to know." Nero shook out a hoodie and put it on, too. "I thought you'd go off the rails again."

"I'm ... giving serious thought to that, actually."

"No." Nero turned around; fortunately Dante didn't seem murderous. Yet. "Dante, you can't go after them." When no reply was forthcoming, Nero repeated, "You can't go after them. If anyone has a right to, it's _me,_ not you. Just don't."

"I'm really angry," said Dante, but he looked and sounded fairly calm, and rational enough. "I want you to know. I'm really angry."

"Promise me," said Nero, "that you won't go after them."

Dante ran a hand through his hair. "This isn't acceptable. I can't let them pull shit like this."

"Promise me. If anyone is going to go after them, it's me. Not you."

"I can't promise you that." Dante shook his head, and he still looked exasperated at the worst, or maybe like he just didn't believe any of this. At any rate he didn't look like he was about to go kill people right this moment. "I can't let the mafia think they can do this."

"Nothing has changed since last month," said Nero. "If you weren't going to go murdering people last month, you shouldn't do it now."

Dante laughed, and the laugh raised the hairs on the back of Nero's neck. "I wouldn't _kill_ them, kid."

"Or whatever you're going to do!" It didn't really matter; Dante shouldn't be out attacking human beings at all, with lethal intent or otherwise. "Don't. I'm asking you. Don't."

"I'll think about it."

That was probably the best Nero could hope to get, but he walked over to Dante and stepped up very close to him, close enough to feel his breath. "Don't," he said again, quietly.

"I'll think about it," said Dante, just as quietly. "Not to change the subject or anything, but, ah ... does this mean I can kiss you?"

"I'd really like you to fuck me," said Nero.

"... really. After that."

"Yeah, well, it sucks when it happens, but it's over now." He kissed Dante's chin; there was two days of stubble there, and he turned his head to run his lips across it. "I want you. You want me, don't you?"

"You know I do." Dante's arms went around Nero, and pulled him into a close embrace. "I haven't been able to stop looking at you all day."

"Then do it."

They moved back over to the desk, because it was close and because Dante wanted to for some reason. Nero unplugged the phone from the wall to keep the damned thing from ringing again, and then lay back on the top of the desk so Dante could straddle him. That was all for a couple of minutes, just deep kisses, until Dante put a hand between Nero's legs.

The moment he took Nero by the balls, Nero's arousal just shot through the roof. It was suddenly unbearable; he sucked Dante's tongue into his mouth, and clutched Dante's shoulders trying to pull him closer, unable to stand being _this close_ without Dante inside him.

"Fuck me," Nero whispered, when Dante pulled away to strip off his coat and shirt. "Now." Dante's response was a very devilish half-smile, and that made Nero remember something important. "But ... Dante, don't try to hold me down."

"Okay." The word came half-buried in a growl as Dante leaned back down to kiss the side of Nero's neck.

Could it really be that easy? Nero turned his head to the side to submit to the bite he knew was coming and ran his hands up Dante's now-bare back. He needed Dante inside him, right now ... was it really so easy to get that without triggering a panic attack?

The bite came, hard pain on Nero's neck, and Nero's body convulsed as though electrified. The pain felt _so good_ that he didn't even think; it was Dante's sudden loud snarl and even harder bite that made Nero realize that he'd just sunk his claws into the devil's back.

This was what he wanted, and what he'd feared: pain and blood and Dante out of his mind, out of control. Nero hadn't intended to do it, but Dante's teeth were still in his neck and he could feel Dante thrusting against his thigh; his mind slipped effortlessly into a willingness to do whatever this demon wanted, so long as Dante fucked him. He curved his talons farther into Dante's back, and an instant later he was caught in a violent kiss.

An instant after that, fear washed away some of the lust, as Nero realized that this meant Dante was probably going to forget, and grab him and pin him down.

Dante broke the kiss and murmured, "Are you okay?"

 _Shit._ Nero must have locked up or something. "Yes," he said. "Just, don't hold me down."

"I won't." There was a growl behind the words. "I won't, don't worry."

How reassuring was that? The fact that Dante was speaking in complete sentences, even short ones, boded well. Nero tried to put his anxiety aside, and closed his eyes when Dante recaptured his mouth.

It turned out to be really easy to recover what arousal Nero had lost. He could feel Dante's erection against his hip, and feel how Dante was grinding it into him, which made it a short mental jump to thinking about how it would feel inside him. Dante was still _so close,_ and Nero was still suffering from an entire day of sharing a room with Dante after weeks of no intercourse, and he still had an ache on his neck from the savage bite. It took less than a minute for him to drop back into a submissive state of mind, and less than a minute more for him to reach the point where he could no longer take it.

Throwing his head back to break the kiss, Nero said, "Fuck me."

Dante threw open the top desk drawer with a rattle and took a moment to sort through what was in it. Nero kissed the older hunter's shoulder, whispering, "Come on, come on."

"Turn over. And take off your shirt."

The air was damned cold, but Nero complied immediately. He would have done anything Dante asked; stripping down in a cold room was no hardship. He took off his pants as well, and as he positioned himself at the edge of the desk he heard Dante unwrap a condom behind him.

"Do it," he said, hard as hell and all but squirming with how badly he wanted Dante inside him.

Dante laid a hand on his back, and just as quickly removed it. "Sorry."

"I'm okay," said Nero. "Come on, do it." He was going to _die_ if Dante didn't fuck him in the next thirty seconds.

It didn't come to that. He felt Dante's cock between his buttocks, and Nero spread his legs as wide as he could as it penetrated him. A cry escaped him; it hurt a little, but it always did at first and he didn't care because it also felt _so good._ So hard and heavy, pressing against all the right things inside him. When Dante drew back and thrust into him, it felt like Nero came right there. And then again, on the next thrust. And again.

There was blood on his talons, more this time. Nero sucked it off his fingers and _fucking hell_ that almost made him come for real. Dante leaned down over his back, warm and panting, and bit his shoulder.

Nero just lost it. The blood in his mouth, the pain in his shoulder, Dante's cock _stroking_ inside him ... moans started to pour out of him, and before he knew what he was doing he had his own hand on his erection. The pressure inside him magnified the pleasure in his cock; he heard himself making loud groans, and he gripped the side of the desk, his claws sinking into the wood. Several strokes later, accompanied by several thrusts of Dante's hips, Nero came with a harsh cry.

It took much longer for Dante to reach the same point, and being fucked straight through his orgasm was fantastic at first. After a while, as he came down off the high, it started to become uncomfortable, but not enough for Nero to say anything before Dante started to make rough sounds and lay frantic kisses between Nero's shoulder blades. When Dante came, it was with a vicious snarl, but his lips on Nero's back were soft.

Then Nero had to lay there for several more minutes as Dante's erection softened inside him, while Dante got his wits together or whatever it was he did after coming. That wasn't bad, exactly, but Dante hadn't fallen onto him and he was cold, and the edge of the desk was starting to create painful little points on his hip.

When he shifted his position to relieve one of those problems, Dante sighed and kissed his back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Nero was better than okay. He felt _so good._ That was exactly what he'd needed. "Let me up."

Dante went to get rid of the condom and wash his hands, and Nero put his clothes back on. His semen had dripped a line down the side of the new desk. "Hope you don't mind that," he said, and pointed it out when Dante returned.

"It needed a christening anyway." Dante pulled a box of tissues out of the bottom drawer and used one to clean it up.

Nero propped himself against the side of the desk, and when Dante was done he leaned against Nero and gave him a soft kiss.

"Thank you," said Nero. "I honestly didn't know you had it in you."

"Had what in me?"

"The ability to fuck me without trying to trap me."

Dante nuzzled Nero's jaw line. "It was not easy," he said.

Nero could understand that. "Thank you," he said again.

"I don't want to do anything you don't want me to do," said Dante. "And I mean ever. You just have to tell me."

"Yeah." Maybe it _was_ better, having everything in the open this way. Maybe it had been a mistake to try to conceal it. It still made Nero uneasy, that Dante knew how weak he was, but it had simplified a lot.

Because Dante was tired he was willing to just kiss for a while, and Nero held him close. He felt better, in every way. Yes, this was worth it.

* * *

Trish came by the next day, and was waiting in the office when Dante and Nero returned from breakfast. "What are you two up to today?"

"We were going to go shoot some bunnies," said Dante, "and then later we planned to take out Bambi's mom."

"I have something better than that for you. A _really_ clever devil uptown. The damned thing evaded me for four days, and when I finally cornered it, it split into two pieces and one of them got away."

That did sound interesting, like something Nero would have jumped on without hesitation. Dante apparently felt the same way, because his tone was interested when he replied. "Is it killing people?" he asked.

"Not since I've had it on the run. Before then, a couple of humans and a lot of pets."

"Does it have to be today? Or can we do it tonight?"

Trish's gaze flicked from Dante to Nero and then back. "So you do have plans," she said.

"It's nothing important," said Nero.

Dante disagreed. "Yeah, actually it is important. You can keep your devil running until, say, nine tonight? Right?"

"I suppose I can." Trish gave Dante a smile, and then turned the smile on Nero. She was _so beautiful._ "See you tonight outside the cathedral, then?"

"It'll just be me," said Dante.

"Dante," said Trish. "You're actually going to do some work _yourself_ for once?"

"I'm taking a paid vacation," said Nero.

She laughed. "That's probably a good idea," she said. "He needs to get off his rear every once in a while and get some exercise."

"Are you saying I'm fat?" said Dante.

"I'm saying you're lazy. You're like a spoiled cat who can't be bothered to catch mice, because he's tricked another cat into doing it for him."

"Nobody tricked me," said Nero, but he couldn't be angry. Not at Trish.

After Trish left, Nero grabbed his keys off the table, and turned around to find that Dante had taken _his_ keys out of the desk drawer.

"I'm capable of driving," said Nero.

"Yeah," said Dante, "but you don't know where we're going."

That had never stopped Dante from shoving Nero into the driver's seat before. Nero couldn't be angry at Trish, but he could definitely be angry at Dante. "I'm not dangerous behind the wheel," he said, furious.

"Humor me, kid."

"I'm not _breakable."_

"I didn't say you were."

"Then stop treating me like I am!" Nero flung his keys in rage. He intended to smack Dante in the face with them, but Dante just caught them.

"We don't have to leave right this second." Dante dropped Nero's keys into the drawer. "If you want to get your sword, we can go outside for a few minutes first."

The very idea sent a cold chill through Nero, quenching the rage in an instant. "No," he said. Not with how those spars always ended. "That's not the answer to everything. Sometimes I'm pissed at you for a _reason,_ you know."

"Yeah?" said Dante. "I'd think you'd want to trash me even _more_ in that case."

"You plan to just stand there and let me do it?"

Dante took a moment to reply. "Would that make you happy?"

"No!" Annoyed again, Nero picked up his pistol and said, "Let's just go." So what if Dante wanted to drive him around? He walked out and slammed the door spitefully behind him.

The convertible was frigid and the heater didn't work very well, so Nero was glad the place wasn't that far. He'd sort of expected to do this out in the countryside, with the way Dante had been talking about it, so he was surprised when their destination turned out to be a gun range. It had clearly been a warehouse in an earlier incarnation, and was located in a lightly-occupied industrial area on the outskirts of the city, exactly where one might expect a warehouse to be.

It was nice inside, though, with the lobby paneled in wood and filled with hunting equipment, and guns for sale in locked cases. At the desk Dante bought a clip of bullets for Ebony and some time on the pistol range, and the woman at the desk clearly had no idea what kind of devils had just walked into her establishment because she wouldn't let them onto the range without eye and ear protection. Nero took off his left glove, but left the other one on so she wouldn't find out.

The pistol range was divided off from the rest of the building with walls made out of a gray something that Nero couldn't identify, and there was one other person there, practicing with a small automatic, who paid them no attention at all. Dante gave Ebony to Nero and let him fire the clip, to get a feel for the weapon. It had a bit less recoil than Nero was used to, but other than that it wasn't very different from his revolver.

"Okay, now watch," said Dante, his voice muffled by the earplugs Nero was wearing but still audible. He pulled the slide on Ivory to show that there was no round in the chamber, and then aimed it at the target at the other end of the lane and pulled the trigger.

It fired exactly like Ebony had, and even ejected brass. Dante picked up the casing and gave it to Nero; it almost burned his hand with the power in it.

"Damn," said Nero. It wasn't like he hadn't believed it, but seeing it and holding the casing in his hand made it real. The metal started to steam, and then it actually evaporated.

"It's not material," said Dante. "They only need to last a few seconds, so don't strain yourself trying to make them material. I don't even think that's possible."

"Okay." Nero just had to trust that would make sense soon.

Dante raised Ivory again and aimed it down-range. "You know what's in a cartridge."

"Yeah." Primer, powder, bullet, wrapped in brass.

"Think about it. Think about the way they feel in your hand. Think about the way they feel when they go off. Put that image into the chamber."

Nero pulled the slide to see how the chamber was laid out and to ensure there were no rounds left, then aimed Ebony down-range as well. Visualizing a cartridge in the chamber wasn't a problem, but he doubted that alone did anything.

"Got it?"

"Yeah," said Nero, "but that doesn't make one magically appear." Then he had a moment of doubt. "Does it?"

"No. You have to put a little power into it to make one magically appear." Dante pulled the trigger, and Ivory fired as though loaded; the brass tinked as it hit the concrete floor. "Just a little. Cartridges aren't that big."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Put power _into_ this imaginary thing. What would that feel like, assuming Nero managed to do it?

Dante said nothing for a moment, just firing Ivory a few more times with a thoughtful expression. "Played around with Nevan any more?" he said eventually.

"A bit." Put power _into_ an imaginary bullet. Nero knew how to put a little power into a _real_ bullet. Was it the same? He bit the middle finger of his glove, wondering if he should take it off.

"Those bats don't really come out of nowhere. They're created out of _your_ power."

Oh. _Oh._ Nero dropped his right hand to his side. "This isn't a devil arm, though." He'd thought that Nevan drew forth and channeled that energy because it was demonic, not because of anything he'd done himself. Nero didn't feel any kind of draw from Ebony.

"Yeah, that makes it more of an effort. Same principle, though."

Cartridge in the chamber - Nero knew exactly what its physical properties would be, and exactly how it would rest within the weapon - and the same kind of energy that flowed from his hands when he played the electric guitar. Nero tried to will that to happen but ... nothing. Nevan made it so smooth and effortless that Nero had never paid attention to what was happening, and he didn't know how to reproduce it.

"I don't know if this is going to work," he said after a couple of minutes.

"Take your time," said Dante. He holstered Ivory under his coat, and then reached across Nero and laid a hand over his wrist.

Something jumped through Nero's hand, something surging like a flood through his blood. The cartridge was suddenly _real._ Not knowing how he knew, Nero nevertheless knew: the imaginary cartridge in the chamber was no longer imaginary.

He pulled the trigger, and Ebony recoiled as the _very real_ cartridge in the chamber went off. The weapon ejected the brass and chambered another round; Nero pulled the trigger again, and it fired again.

Dante let go and the feeling faded, but Nero didn't lower the gun. He knew that sensation, that power flowing through him. He wasn't sure if he could replicate it without Yamato, but at least he now knew what was supposed to happen.

"It's like those little swords," he said, mostly to himself.

"Swords?"

"Yeah, I don't know if you've seen them." Nero couldn't recall offhand and didn't feel like searching his memory. Could he play Nevan without Yamato? He hadn't tried, but it wasn't like relinquishing Yamato had changed his right hand back into a _hand,_ or stopped him from recovering quickly from injuries. He was still demonic, with or without the katana.

He lowered Ebony a moment to look at the target down-range, then raised the weapon, sighted, tried to let the power kind of flow out of him the way it did into those swords, and ...

The cartridge was real. He pulled the trigger.

Ebony kicked in his hand and ejected the brass. Nero let the power flow, and another round chambered.

It was _easy._ He didn't even have to keep thinking about the way the cartridges were constructed; after the fourth one, Nero's mind wandered a little but the cartridges continued to form in a functional state. "This is ... not very hard," he said.

Could he do this with his own weapon? Nero gave the black gun back to Dante and pulled out Blue Rose. The revolver was loaded, so he took the cartridges out first and aimed it down-range. The power flowed immediately into the cylinder, solidifying behind the double barrels. Whatever had been holding him back before seemed to be gone, because it happened almost automatically, with no thought at all.

The sound when he pulled the trigger cracked through his mind, knocked him into blind panic. When he came out of it his heart was pounding and his breath came in quick gasps, but he hadn't moved. He was still standing there with his gun in his hand, aimed at the target at the far end of the lane.

The gun was shaking, and his fingers were numb. Nero lowered the weapon and set it down on the table next to him, then put his hand to his mouth. Fuck. He hadn't expected that.

"You need to sit down?" asked Dante, and Nero shook his head. "You sure?"

"Yeah," said Nero. His heart was slowing, and he took a deep breath to slow his breathing as well. "I'm okay."

"You don't look okay, kid."

"I'm _fine!"_

The woman at the other side of the room glanced their way, and Nero got himself under control. He _was_ fine. That hadn't been that bad ... apparently he'd just frozen up for a second.

"Maybe we should go," said Dante.

"No." Nero picked up Blue Rose, but his hand wasn't steady yet so he set it back down. "Just give me a minute."

"You don't have to," said Dante.

"Shut the hell up and just _give me a minute."_

This was intolerable! He couldn't even use _his own gun_ anymore? That was so much bullshit. Ebony had, apparently, a sufficiently-different sound and feel to not set him off, but Nero sure as hell wasn't going to resort to borrowing one of Dante's guns.

He took another breath and picked up Blue Rose, and this time his hand was steady. "I'm not going to let this put me off my own gun," he said.

As he pulled the trigger a flash of anticipatory fear sent his pulse racing again, but the panic didn't hit this time. Nero steadied himself and tried to control his breathing. Okay. He could do this. A third shot, no panic.

Maybe it was only going to happen that one time. The fear settled after a few more shots. Maybe that was all he had to do, just put up with it the one time.

Then he shifted his stance, aiming toward the ceiling so he could see what kind of damage these spectral bullets were doing to the target at the end of the lane, and as the muzzle went up another instant of panic whacked him like a steel pipe in the back of the head. It brought a memory with it, of seeing that dark-skinned teenaged girl and raising his gun toward the ceiling because he knew now what was going to happen and he knew he couldn't try to defend himself anymore ...

When the memory faded he couldn't move, and Nero reacted by instinct, with a cry of terror and fury, trying to throw off what was holding him. That quickly passed, though; it was Dante holding him, Dante restraining him so he didn't ... do whatever it was he did when he flipped like that. The earplugs meant he couldn't hear it, but he didn't doubt that Dante was making soothing sounds at him.

Fucking hell. Nero pressed his face against Dante's chest. He couldn't handle this. He couldn't handle this anymore. He could still see it, the smiles, the terrified look on that girl's face ...

The woman sharing the range with them was talking, asking if Nero was okay and if she needed to call anyone. Dante said something in reply that Nero didn't catch. Nero straightened up, forced himself to straighten up, and got Dante to let him go, but he was unsteady and had to lean on one of the tables. He didn't have his gun anymore, which was fucking good.

"Are you okay?" asked Dante.

"No," said Nero. His voice was shaking. "Let's go. I'm too dangerous to be armed."

They went to the car, Dante with Blue Rose in hand, and Nero kind of wanted to die. He was completely useless. It was a good thing Dante _had_ driven, because who the fuck knew when something on the _road_ would give him an attack. Nero got in the car, threw an arm over his face, and tried to stifle the crazed laughter that was rising inside him, because he knew sobs weren't far behind it.

He was so fucked up. He was fucked up beyond all hope.

Dante got in as well, but didn't start the engine. "Nero," he said. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Shoot me in the head," said Nero.

"... other than that."

"I can't live like this." Nero turned his head and looked out the window. "I'm completely incapacitated. I can't even handle _my own gun_ without ..." No, he couldn't think about it. Thinking about it could make it happen again.

"Hey," said Dante. "That's not true. This is _temporary."_

"Is it? How do you know?"

"It has to be. Nothing is forever."

Nero did laugh at that, and the laugh was, indeed, a little crazed. "Brilliant logic," he said.

"Nero," said Dante, and he reached across the car to take Nero's hand. "Look at me."

"Fuck off," said Nero. He pulled his hand out of Dante's. "It's not like I'm overreacting here. You just had to take my own gun away from me and I don't even remember you doing it." His voice started to rise at the end, and he put his hand over his mouth. He didn't want to start crying here, but fuck it, he was _broken,_ and he couldn't handle this. He couldn't.

After a long hesitation Dante started the car. "I wouldn't say you're overreacting," he said, "but I hope you know that if you never kill another devil in your life, that's actually okay."

Dante didn't say anything more, and Nero just watched the snowy landscape pass. The urge to break down into tears eventually subsided, but Nero felt them waiting inside him, pressing in his throat.

What good was he, now? Probably not even good for a regular job, because who knew what might set him off? He was still a devil, still far stronger than any human; he could do a lot of damage to someone in the couple of seconds the attacks seemed to last, if they got in his way. He couldn't risk that. He couldn't live with himself _now._ He definitely wouldn't be able to if he tore someone's face off or something.

He was completely useless. The more he thought about that, the more the idea settled him. He was completely worthless, and worse: he was actively dangerous.

"I'm pathetic," he said, as Dante pulled off the interstate, a few miles from home.

"No," said Dante. "You're just injured."

Nero laughed, but had to stifle it to keep from upsetting the balance inside him. "Just," he said.

"Yes, _just._ If you broke your leg, and you were human, we'd wait a few months before even trying to get you on your feet again. This is no different. We wouldn't be talking about how your life is over, or how I ought to put you down like a lame horse." His voice was quiet, and closed down on the last few words.

It sounded shocking when put that way, even though it tracked well with what had been going through Nero's mind the entire trip. "I didn't mean that," said Nero. "I was upset." He was still upset, but he hadn't meant to drag Dante into his despair.

"Yeah. I know. But I tell you this. If you were completely physically destroyed, and never were able to _physically_ hold a gun again, that would be okay. I don't know why you think your life is over just because the problem is in your head. You wouldn't if it was in your arm."

Damn. Nero kept his gaze fixed out the window, unwilling to even sort-of face Dante. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You don't have to be. Just ... don't think that way, okay?"

Nero felt terribly guilty now. He shouldn't have said that. No matter how dark his mood, he had no right to pull other people down with him.

It started to snow again as Dante parked around the corner from the shop. "I hate snow," said Nero, mostly to change the subject.

"Want to put the rest of the drapes up?" asked Dante.

"Might as well." Nothing else to do now that Nero was crippled.

While Nero got out the hardware, Dante plugged the phone back in and made a call. "Hey, it's me. No ... hold on, before you start, I need a favor. Yeah, I know. _I know,_ okay? Look, can you yell at me later? I told Trish I'd do something with her tonight and something came up."

"Shit," said Nero. "I don't need a fucking suicide watch, Dante."

Dante gave him a warning look. "No. He didn't mean anything. _No."_ A pause. "Yes. Nine, outside the cathedral. The one downtown. It doesn't sound like it'll be hard, she just needs someone to take half of a demon that splits when it's cornered. I don't think so, no. No idea, you'll have to ask Trish."

This was awful. Nero spread out the brackets and curtain rods, growing more and more angry as Dante arranged to stay home with him tonight. The anger should have felt good; anger was easy and familiar, and Nero had used it often to chase away less desirable emotions. This time the anger was black, and somehow poisonous. Nero was furious, but the fury ate at him, and nauseated him.

"Yeah," said Dante. "Yeah. Thanks, I owe you. Bye." After he hung up, he unplugged the phone.

"I don't need a babysitter," said Nero.

"No, you don't," said Dante. "But if there's even one chance in a million of me coming home and finding you bleeding from the head with a gun and an empty bottle of booze next to you, I'll stay in."

Like a switch, the poisonous rage flipped over to the more normal kind, and Nero flung a curtain rod at Dante, wanting bash that bastard's head in. Dante caught it, of course, and walked over to hand it back.

"If you want to trash me," said Dante, "just let me know. If it will make you feel better."

How _dare_ he? Nero shook with fury, unable to think of anything except, how _dare_ he? How _dare_ he treat Nero this way? How _dare_ he insinuate that Nero would do that?

When he could control his voice, Nero said, "I'm fucked up, but I'm not that fucked up, and you have no right to say that."

"I'm sorry," said Dante.

"You should be." Nero turned around and yanked the ladder away from where he'd left it against the wall, and dragged it over to the next window. "Come over here and help me, you piece of shit."

Nero didn't speak to Dante for the rest of the day, except to tell him what to do to help get the curtains up. Dante didn't even attempt to converse, doing what he was told and nothing else. It was infuriating, that this man who knew _nothing_ about how Nero felt was being so _fucking_ accommodating. And after having said _that,_ after having offered to _let_ Nero do violence to him, _as if Nero might actually do that._

He did feel better, though, being angry at Dante. Probably anything would have done, but Dante made a convenient target. So often, the man demonstrated that nothing he said or did had any meaning at all, and then he went and did something like _this._ Were Nero to take today, and the last two or three of days actually, out of context, he might draw the conclusion that Dante actually cared, and maybe cared a lot, and that was the most enraging thing of all. Being enraged at Dante kept that poisonous rage at bay.

It was mid-evening when the last set of curtains was hung, and Nero came down the ladder brushing dust out of his hair and wiping it off his face. "I'm going to take a shower," he said. "If I want to leave and go somewhere after that, without you, are you going to try to force me to stay here?"

A strange expression crossed Dante's face, something pained and conflicted. "... no," he said.

"You going to try to come with me, to make sure I don't stub my toe or some shit?"

"No," said Dante.

That was something, at least. Nero picked up a clean pair of jeans and went into the bathroom to get rid of the dust.

He hated this, that Dante felt a need to babysit him, but in a moment of honestly Nero had to kind of admit that he'd brought it on himself. He shouldn't have said that, no matter how low a point he'd reached. He hadn't been thinking properly.

After a short shower to get the dust off, Nero put on his clean jeans and went out into the front room to get a clean and not-dusty shirt. Dante had moved the space heater into the middle of the room, and damned if it didn't feel like the air was actually warming up. "Am I nuts," said Nero, "or does it feel warmer already?"

"I think it's getting warmer," said Dante. He'd sat down at his desk with a magazine, and didn't look up from it. "Curtains were a good idea. Thanks."

Nero still had some tieback hooks to install, so that the curtains could be opened without climbing the ladder to move them along the rods, but he decided to do that later. Maybe tomorrow, maybe spring. "I don't know how you lived in this kind of cold as long as you did."

"I don't feel it as much as you do. I think I'm just used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it." Nero put a shirt on, and then a hoodie. "I'm sorry for saying what I did, about you putting a bullet in my head."

"You don't have to be," said Dante. "I don't care that you said it. I care that you felt that way." He turned a page, but his eyes were unfocused. "I don't want you thinking your life is over because you twitch when you hear something you don't like."

"It's more serious than a twitch," said Nero. He stretched out on the couch and pulled a blanket over his legs, then picked up his book off the table.

"Whatever you want to call it. It's not life-ending. I don't want you to think your life is over, and I wish I knew what to do to make you stop thinking it is."

Nero opened his book at the bookmark, but he, too, just stared at the page. There was pressure in his throat and chest again, the tears from before threatening to return. This didn't mean anything. Maybe Dante _did_ care, but not like that. The man wasn't cruel, and they did get along reasonably well; of course Dante wouldn't want to see him this way, out of basic decency. It went no farther than that. "I don't think it is," he said. "I just said that because I was upset. I didn't mean it."

A long hesitation, before Dante said, "I hope that's true. It's kind of killing me that I don't know what to do for you."

The emotion in Nero's throat tightened, and he put a hand against his mouth to try to hold it in. This went no farther than basic decency, what Dante might do for any friend.

When Nero said nothing, Dante continued, "All week I've been watching you fall to pieces right in front of me, and I haven't been able to do anything about it. I don't know what to do. Whatever I try, it seems like it's the wrong thing."

"You don't have to do anything," said Nero. It was difficult to speak. He wasn't sure he could handle listening to this, when in a couple of days or a week Dante was going to prove yet again that Nero's feelings meant nothing. "Shut up, okay?"

"... okay. But, I want you to sleep upstairs tonight."

"No." Not a chance.

"It would really make me feel better if you did."

 _"No,"_ said Nero again. "I'm not suicidal."

Dante looked up from his magazine. "Okay," he said. "I still want you upstairs tonight."

"And I already said no." When Dante just looked at him, Nero said, _"No,_ Dante! What's hard for you to understand in that?"

"This is not actually a request," said Dante.

Fucking hell. Nero turned around on the couch to put Dante behind him, and said, "Whatever." Aggravation was good for sweeping other things out of Nero's mind.

* * *

Nero tried to sleep on the floor of Dante's bedroom with just a pillow, but it was too cold. Pulling a blanket off the bed was almost as bad as just sleeping in the bed itself, so he eventually gave in and got up off the floor.

The bed smelled like Dante. Even with clean sheets, the blankets held his scent. Nero couldn't turn any direction without breathing it in from the pillows. The last time he'd been up here he'd been drunk, and if there'd been any unguarded liquor in the place he might have tried to replicate that because it had worked out okay when he was full of whiskey, but he would have had to go past Dante to get to it.

It was like Dante was there in the bed with him, but somehow untouchable. Nero could smell him as though he were right there, but there was no warm skin when he reached out, and no soft breathing beside him. Nero dropped quickly into a half-doze in which he could imagine Dante's body so vividly that he could almost believe the man was there, and from there he fell into a dream full of hands and kisses.

The dream was so clear. Nero could taste Dante's mouth, and hear and feel the rumble of his voice. He could taste sour-salt demonic blood when he bit Dante's lip, and there was pain when Dante bit him in turn. Dante's hands on his arms were completely real.

So was the whisper in his ear, and Nero woke with a cry.

He got up immediately, all but throwing himself to his feet to get away from that scent. There was a touch of light in the window, and it was freezing; Nero picked up the shirt and jeans he'd left on the floor and put them on. Only half-awake, he stumbled getting his jeans on, and fell against the wall next to the window.

"Fuck," he whispered. He was aroused, and had to zip up his jeans past a hard erection, but he also ached inside. This was worse than the dreams of blood and violence he usually had in Dante's bed. This one _hurt,_ in his chest and in his belly, and he brought his talons to his lips, more than half-expecting there to be blood on them from having clawed himself in his sleep. It meant nothing. Everything Dante said and did, it never meant _anything._

All of this caring crap Dante was doing ... it was only because Nero was having some kind of nervous breakdown. It wasn't like Dante would _want_ to see Nero go insane. As soon as Nero stabilized, it would disappear. It meant _nothing._

 _Damn_ he was so hard. Despite the despair threatening to annihilate his self control and send him into another crying jag, despite his shivering and the cold still biting his skin, Nero was desperately aroused. Dante was downstairs, almost certainly asleep; Nero could go down there, and he'd wake before Nero even reached him, and he would, at a minimum, let Nero kiss him. Dante never refused Nero a kiss. Nero could kiss him, and forget that nothing Dante did ever had any meaning whatsoever.

He was at the door before he caught himself. Wouldn't it hurt more to do that? Wouldn't it be better to keep his distance and stay in reality? Dante's voice from the dream was still in his ears, and he was so _hard_ ... he could go down there, get Dante to kiss him and probably jack him off, and pretend, but wouldn't that just be worse in the morning? Nero leaned against the wall, pressed his hand to his face, and tried to keep it together.

Why did any of this have to happen? Why had he even _come_ here? He'd had ... not a great life on Fortuna, but not a horrible one, either. He'd had a stable life. Here ...

Nero started to laugh, muffled against the hand on his mouth, and then the laughter became sobs, and he slid down the wall to the floor next to the door, trying to cry as quietly as possible so as not to wake Dante but unable to stop. It poured out of him, choked him, ached in his chest and belly with each convulsing breath, and he didn't even know why he was crying. He just _was,_ wracked by messy, ugly sobs.

Eventually the grip of emotion started to ease, and Nero breathed a little and wiped his face and nose with the tail of his shirt. This was stupid, and pathetic. Why was he so _stupid_ and so _pathetic_ now? Was he up here crying because Dante didn't love him? There was nothing new in that, and he had more important shit to cry about, like having murdered a guy a couple of days ago, or being unable to handle a gun or answer the phone without a dangerous freakout.

He did feel better, having gotten it out. He stayed on the floor and just breathed in the cold air as calm returned, the way it did after he expended an explosion of rage. That erection had gone away, too, which was also good. Now all he had to do was wait for sunrise so he could leave the room. Today would be a better day. It almost had to be. He could get through this. This would be worth it.

* * *

Patty stopped by later that morning, full of excitement and with a letter in her hand. She'd been accepted to a graduate school across the country, studying, of all the things, landscape architecture. Nero had no idea those two words could even go together, but she seemed to think it was definitely the field she wanted to enter.

"Landscape architects design things like parks," she said, "but they're also involved in city planning, and designed communities." She racked the balls at the pool table; she and Dante were about to play, and Dante had turned on the overhead lights to compensate for the curtains being closed. Dante's prediction had been correct - Patty was not interested in playing pool with Nero - but Nero hardly cared.

"Designed communities," said Nero. Two more words he hadn't known could be paired.

"It's going to be so awesome," she said.

"I'll take your word for it," said Nero.

"How did you do in that class you hated?" asked Dante.

"Which one? Statistics, or French? I hated both of them."

"The one with the teacher who kept wasting half the class talking about his personal life."

Patty frowned a prim frown. "Statistics," she said. "I got an A-minus. And that prof got a _very candid_ class evaluation from me!" She chalked her cue and leaned down to break. "I hope both of you come to my graduation in May."

"Sure," said Nero. Why not? Nobody he knew had even _gone_ to college, let alone completed a degree. It would be kind of cool to see Patty collect a diploma.

"Great! I'll call you to remind you. Which reminds _me_ ... why aren't you answering your phone?"

"What do you mean?" asked Dante.

"I tried to call you last night and it rang and rang."

"Oh. It's unplugged. I got tired of people calling me."

"How do you get _business?"_ She stepped back from the table, and Dante moved in to look at the layout.

"If it's important," said Dante, "they'll go through Morrison."

Patty looked at Nero, like she expected him to have some kind of explanation. Nero just shrugged.

"He's being lazy again, isn't he?" she asked.

Before Nero could think of an answer, Dante said, "I'm not lazy. I'm _efficient."_ He lined up a shot, and neatly missed.

"Efficiency implies that you actually do something," said Patty, as she walked around the table. "Unplugging your phone implies that you don't want to do anything, efficiently or otherwise."

"Unplugging my phone implies that I want visitors. It got you in the door, didn't it? Quite efficiently, I might add."

Patty laughed. "I guess it did."

Dante chalked his cue as he waited for Patty to take her shot. "It's all part of my cunning plan to get people to spend an afternoon entertaining me."

"I think that might be easier if you did normal things." Patty leaned down over the table; the balls cracked, and one dropped into a pocket. Nero couldn't really see the table from his position on the couch, but it must have been the wrong ball because she stepped back. "Like, when was the last time you went to a movie, or went on a date?"

"Movies are stupid," said Dante. "I think I last watched one when I was about seven. I can't remember the last time I had a date."

"It was the end of October," said Nero. "It was with me."

"Oh, yeah!" Dante pointed at Nero. "It was the end of October, with Nero."

Patty glared at them both. "Be serious," she said.

"I am," said Nero. "He asked me out, and we went out to dinner and had a great time, and then he ditched me and went to have sex with someone else."

He meant to make it sound light, his tone the same one Dante used when he would screw around with people, but didn't quite succeed and some of his bitterness bled into the words near the end. Dante looked his way, and Patty continued to glare.

"That's not what I mean when I say _a date,"_ she said.

"I didn't know that upset you," said Dante.

"It didn't upset me." Nero picked up his book, and then rethought his words, because there was obviously no point in trying to hide it. "Okay, it did upset me. What the hell did you think it was going to do?"

"I ... guess I didn't give any thought to it at all." Dante was clearly giving thought to it now.

"Yeah, you never think about anything," said Nero. He opened the book. "Don't worry about it now. I wouldn't want your little gears to overheat."

"Did I just miss something important?" asked Patty.

"No," said Nero. "Kick his ass and take his money."

Dante made a sound in his throat, and then seemed to just dismiss it out of his mind as he looked at the layout on the table. Nero furiously buried himself in his book so he wouldn't have to listen to the two of them talk anymore, or think about them at all.

After Patty left, however, Dante came over to the couch and pulled the book out of Nero's hand.

"That's rude," said Nero, but he didn't try to keep a hold on it.

"I didn't know that had upset you," said Dante. He sat down next to Nero's legs and put the book down on the coffee table.

Nero was less upset now, having had a couple hours to cool off about it. "Again," he said, "what did you expect it to do?"

"Best I can remember, I was halfway out of my head with how much I wanted to fuck you," said Dante. "But you didn't seem into it."

"Yeah, that must have been it." Nero honestly didn't recall what kind of mood he'd been in prior to Dante leaving. He only remembered that it had been a pretty good one, and then it felt like he'd been punched in the gut once he'd realized what Dante had left to do. "I don't know why we're talking about this. What's done is done."

"I didn't know that had upset you," said Dante, yet again, like he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yeah? Now you do." Nero reached over to retrieve his book, and settled it into his lap. "I'm almost done with this. Are you going to escort me to the library when I take my books back, because I obviously can't be trusted to return a book without jumping in front of a train?"

With a softly exhaled sigh, Dante stood up. "Only if you want me to."

"What I _want_ is for you to treat me like I'm a normal person."

"Okay." Dante nodded, and returned to his desk. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Nero was on his feet and slamming the book down onto the coffee table before he even knew what he was doing. _"What the fuck did you think that was going to do to me?"_ This was a mistake - some part of Nero knew it was a mistake - but the sheer white _rage_ lighting him up was in control. "What the _motherfuck_ did you expect that to do, you _fucking asshole?"_

Dante, about to sit down but arrested by the outburst, was just kind of staring at him, like Nero had just threatened to murder his mother. The last rush of rage made Nero kick the coffee table over, and then he was able to catch his breath.

"I fucking hate you," he said.

"Kid," said Dante, cautiously. "It would have never crossed my mind that you would even care what I was doing with Lady."

 _"Nothing_ ever crosses your mind." This was a mistake. With the fury expended, Nero was just ordinarily angry now, and he knew that this was a mistake. "Nevermind. Forget it. This is stupid." He turned around and went to the window, and pulled one of the curtains aside to look out at the road.

There was a creak behind him as Dante sat down, and then the man was silent for a long time. It was long enough for Nero to calm most of the rest of the way down and start thinking that maybe he should put up the tieback hooks now. That way they could open the curtains during the day and let in some light.

Then Dante said, "Do you want to go out tonight?"

"Sure," said Nero, "because that worked out _so well_ last time."

"This time I won't go anywhere afterward. I promise."

A refusal balanced on the tip of Nero's tongue. Whatever Dante was up to with this, it meant nothing, so Nero should just tell him to shove it up his ass.

The impulse wavered, and collapsed. Nero turned around. "Where are we going?"

"Up to you."

"Not steak. Watching you eat a cow that was still mooing gave me nightmares."

Dante thought for a moment. "Seafood?"

That was ... tempting. "It won't be deep-fried, will it?" Nero asked. Since coming to the mainland, he hadn't so much as seen a fish that wasn't drowned in batter and oil.

"I'm ... ninety-percent sure there will be a non-fried option."

Damn, that was really tempting. Nero had to remind himself that this was meaningless in the long-term. Dante was just coddling him during his nervous breakdown. That was all. "We shouldn't waste money on expensive dinners," he said.

"It's not _that_ much more than pizza," said Dante. "If you don't want to, say so, but don't turn me down because you're worried about the finances."

That wasn't really Nero's worry, but now that that excuse had been removed his resolve crumbled again. "What time?" he asked.

Dante looked up at the clock. "Two hours, maybe? That should give me time to primp."

"Don't bother. No amount of primping will make you pretty."

"Oh, I don't know." Dante tossed his head back, as though throwing back his hair. "A little eyeliner and some blush, and you'll think I'm a runway model."

Nero didn't want to smile. He was still more than a little angry, and unlike many of his rages this anger was completely justifiable. He was smiling anyway. "Only if the runway we're talking about is at the airport."

"So you're saying I'm sexy enough to stop an airplane in its tracks. Good to know we agree."

"I'm going to walk over there and punch you," said Nero.

Dante just gave him a return smile. "Let me know when you're hungry, kid, but if we don't want to wait for an hour to get in, we should probably leave before five."

"I think I'll manage to be hungry by then." Nero returned to the couch and righted the coffee table, then found where his book had fallen and sat down to finish it.

* * *

The restaurant was less than a mile away, so they elected to walk, a decision that Nero started to regret as soon as the wind picked up. When they stepped into the warm lobby, a powerful shiver shook him, and Dante gave him a bemused look.

"Are you really _that_ cold?" Dante asked.

"Dante, I've been frozen solid since November." Nero stamped his feet to get some feeling in them. It was strange to be in public, and move and _not_ feel the weight of his revolver.

The place was already busy, but there was no wait yet, and it smelled strongly of seafood. Fishnets hung on the walls, with the skeletons of starfish and sand dollars attached. Nero thought that was a bit over the top.

Dante apparently agreed. After they were seated, he touched the bottom of the net on the wall next to him, examining the texture of the twine, and said, "Classy."

"You picked this place," said Nero. "I didn't." He perused the menu the hostess had left with them, and was pleased to see that only the shrimp had deep-fried options. He really didn't want to enjoy this "date" with Dante, not after what had happened the last time, but he thought it would be acceptable to enjoy the food.

"If it's terrible, you can blame me. I won't mind."

The waiter came by to take their drink orders, and Nero asked, "What would you recommend if I want to get really drunk?"

"Well," said the waiter, but Dante interrupted.

"If you hit the Jack again, you won't be able to taste your food," said older hunter. "Get some kind of mixed drink, like a margarita."

"What's a margarita?" asked Nero.

Dante smiled, and said to the waiter, "Give him a margarita."

After the waiter left, Nero felt obliged to offer an explanation, even though Dante hadn't asked for one. "I know I sound stupid sometimes," he said. "We just didn't have a lot of these things on Fortuna. No whiskey, for instance."

"Small town, strong church," said Dante. "I get it. I have to say, though, my dad drank booze."

"Did he?"

"I don't remember much about him. He ran out when I was, oh, five or six. We had a well-stocked bar at home, though, and I know he had some at dinner on holidays."

It would be interesting, Nero thought, if the still-faithful back home were to know things like this about their deified demon. "The Church is okay with wine," he said. "Less okay with beer. Everything stronger is banned from the island."

"That's not a terrible idea," said Dante. "Liquor is the downfall of many."

"It was certainly mine," said Nero darkly.

Dante was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was soft. "I wish you felt like you could talk to me."

Nero wasn't sure what to say. His reasons were good ones. "I can handle myself," he said.

"I've never questioned that. But it makes me wonder ... do you not trust me?"

The glib answer immediately presented itself. _Sure. Of course._ Dante might even believe that if Nero said it convincingly. And he _did_ trust Dante, in some very important ways. He'd put his life in Dante's hands in a heartbeat, and he knew if he was ever in a bind, Dante would get him out of it, and might not even tease him about it afterward.

That mattered. That was important. "I trust you," said Nero eventually, but it came out weakly.

The waiter came back with their drinks. The margarita Dante had ordered for Nero arrived in a strangely-shaped glass full of crushed ice, which made him dubious, but it tasted okay. Like oranges, with something else he couldn't name. He couldn't taste any liquor in it, but knew it was in there as soon as it hit his stomach.

Nero ordered baked fish, and Dante requested shrimp. "The one thing on the menu that's fried," said Nero once the waiter left again, "and that's what you want."

"I have simple tastes," said Dante.

"Fish is simple. It doesn't get much more simple than putting a fillet in a pan in the oven for five minutes." He sipped his drink, warm already. Yes, this had a good bit of booze in it. It wasn't like he actually wanted to get sloppy drunk again, but a memory of being cradled to Dante's chest came with the flush of alcohol and he kind of liked that.

"Tell me about Fortuna," said Dante.

"What's to tell? You were there. You've seen it."

"They kind of treated you like shit there, but I can't believe that started when you were a little kid." Dante smiled and took a sip of his coke. "I bet you were an adorable little kid."

"Hah, hah," said Nero. "I was a hellion. But no, Mom and Dad loved me, and the other people at least tolerated me. They didn't say anything about me being demon spawn until ..." He waved the fingers of his right hand.

"Where are your parents now?"

That question sent a pang through Nero's chest. "Mom died about five years ago. Complications of pneumonia. Dad never got over it. He stopped leaving the house, and stopped eating well, and came down with fever about six months later. It about killed Credo."

"I'm sorry," said Dante.

"Don't be. In retrospect it was probably for the best. They were never in great health. They wouldn't have survived the demon invasion. I'm kind of happy they didn't die by violence." He finished his drink, and leaned back. "Credo was already in the Order and Kyrie was starting to get involved in the Church, too. I had no idea what I wanted to do with myself, and the Order looked pretty good. There aren't a lot of career options on Fortuna, but everyone looked up to the knights of the Order. Still do, really." This was an interesting mood of Dante's. "What's with the curiosity all of a sudden?"

"It's not sudden." Dante leaned back as well. "I wonder sometimes, where you came from, how someone like you wound up on Fortuna of all places."

Nero snorted. "You're asking the wrong person, then. You'll have to find the people responsible for dumping me on a doorstep for that." He tapped his glass. "Do you see our waiter? I want another of these."

Dante smiled. "How wasted are you planning to get?"

"Don't know yet." Nero hadn't really thought that far ahead. "Why?"

"Because it isn't like you. I'm wondering how worried I should be."

That might have been enraging twenty minutes ago, but even the one drink had mellowed Nero enough that he was only mildly irritated. "What the hell do you know about what's like me and what isn't?"

"Kid, I've seen you almost every day for six months," said Dante. "In all that time you've never hit the booze before this week."

"I've had a bad week," said Nero.

"I've noticed."

Okay, this was becoming more than _mildly_ irritating. "I had a bad week," said Nero again, putting hard finality into the words. "That's all."

Surprisingly, Dante accepted that. "If you get too drunk to walk," said the older man, "I'll have to carry you home, so keep that in mind."

"I don't know," said Nero. "I might like that."

"Really." Dante leaned forward over the table. "In that case, maybe I'll do it if you get drunk or not."

Nero leaned forward as well. "Maybe I'll kick your ass if you try it."

Dante looked like he was about to say something to that, but then he caught sight of the waiter and waved him over to get Nero another drink.

Once Nero was sipping the second margarita, Dante said, "I probably should have mentioned this before, but that's kind of a lady's drink."

"Huh." Nero licked his teeth. "I'm glad you didn't tell me. I might not have tried it."

"Sometimes they dip the rim of the glass in salt or sugar. Makes it look like it's growing fur."

Was it only the alcohol that made Nero feel so comfortable? He had good reasons to still be ticked at Dante, and maybe he was, but Nero couldn't actually feel any anger at the moment. It was nice to be out together, with the chatter of conversation around them, talking about ordinary things like mixed drinks and Fortuna. It meant nothing, because nothing ever meant anything, but Nero could deal with that. He could still just enjoy the evening.

"You're smiling," said Dante softly.

Was he? Nero said, "I might be a little drunk."

"Am I going to have to carry you home?"

"If you try it, I'll rip your throat out."

* * *

It was still fairly early when they left the restaurant. Nero was intoxicated enough to not really notice the cold but not so much he couldn't walk straight, although he had another couple of drinks in him that were gradually hitting his bloodstream. Dante didn't actually try to lift and carry him, which was almost disappointing when Nero realized the threat was not going to materialize.

Winter dusk was already over and the sky was completely dark, but the shops and restaurants and bars along the street were in full swing, bright with lights and lively with people. The street parking was packed. Music thrummed from somewhere up ahead, one of the clubs, although Nero didn't know which one. Nero skipped a bit, almost excited by how alive the area seemed.

"This was a good idea," he said. "As long as you don't run off to fuck Lady now, this will be a good date." Dante made no reply, but that was okay. Nero only waited a few seconds for one. "How come we never go out on Saturday nights?"

"I didn't know you want to," said Dante.

"I didn't know I wanted to, either. It's your job to know these things. You have to remember that I'm a hick and I know jack-all about this town."

"You're not a hick, kid."

"Oh, yes I am." Nero laughed, and bounced a few times on his toes with his hands in his pockets. He could tell that his coordination was off, and that was marvelous. "I'm a demon hick. Or would that be a hick demon?" He thought about it a little, and decided it didn't matter. "I've been within walking distance of this place for _six months_ and never knew it looked like this at night."

"It's only on weekends. Really, I didn't know you'd be interested."

"You should take me out more often. Then maybe I'll hate you a little less."

They didn't go into any of the businesses, and eventually passed the club with the loud music. When they reached the end of the street Nero almost wanted to turn around and walk through the district again, but when he tried Dante took his hand to lead him home.

"We'll go out for real some other time," said Dante. "Maybe when it's warmer. Probably not a good idea right now."

"Yeah," said Nero agreeably. "I might have a panic attack and cut someone's throat. That would make me a murderer twice over. That would be twice as bad, wouldn't it?"

"You're not a murderer," said Dante, but the enormity of what Nero had done was already beating its way through the intoxication. As they traversed a darker and quieter street to reach Devil May Cry, he started to have trouble breathing, so great was the weight of his crime. He'd killed a guy, had held his victim in his lap as he'd died, and then taken his bloody clothes to the laundromat to clean out the stains.

He tripped as his toes hit stairs; they were home. Dante helped him regain his balance, and got him up the stairs and in the door.

"I'm a murderer," said Nero, as Dante turned on the lights.

"No, you're not." Dante took Nero by the shoulders, looking him in the face. "You're _not._ Let's talk about something else."

"Like what?" What else was there to talk about? What else was more important than Nero fucking up and killing a human being?

"What's the book you're reading now?"

"What?" Why would Dante want to know _that?_ Nero's breathing evened out as he tried to figure out why that was worth anyone's curiosity.

"You've always got one." With a gentle tug, Dante tried to pull Nero toward the couch, where Nero's two library books waited on the coffee table. "You've never told me what you read."

Nero went where he was guided, and sat heavily. "I've never told you because you don't care." He was drunk enough that this sudden interest from Dante felt somewhat unreal.

"I care now," said Dante, sitting next to Nero. "What book is it?"

"Well." Nero obediently snagged one of the books off the table. "This is about the way educational and criminal justice systems maintain power for groups who are already in power."

"... the hell?" said Dante. He took the book away from Nero and opened it to the bookmark, and scanned the page. "I thought you were reading, like, fiction or something."

"That one's fiction." Nero put one foot up on the table next to the other one. "It was okay. It was a murder mystery, but I figured it out less than halfway through. There are better ones. The best ones, you can't figure it out until the book tells you, and then you're like, Oh, of course! because the clues were always there."

Dante turned a page in the one he had in his hand, and when Nero looked his mouth was turned down in a deep frown. "You read this shit for fun?"

"It gives me something to think about." Nero took the book out of Dante's hands and started to flip to an earlier chapter. "I see a lot of what the Order did in this stuff. I mean, you always have people like me in a society, right? You can let me just do my own thing and maybe be disruptive, or you can pull me into the structure and control me like that. Make me part of it. Then when I fuck things up, it's in the service of the system instead of an attack on the system."

His mind was too muddled to remember where the passage was that he wanted to find, so he closed the book and tossed it onto the table. There was too much force in the throw, however, and it skidded across the table and onto the floor on the other side. That was _hilarious,_ and Nero started to laugh.

"I am so drunk," he said.

"I've noticed." Dante took Nero's hand in his, and leaned closer until their shoulders were touching. "Can I ask you something?"

"I guess."

Dante hesitated a long time after that, though, long enough for Nero to forget that a question was coming. He instead contemplated the book that was now on the floor, and how the Order had tamed him. So much had happened the past couple of days, he hadn't put any kind of deep thought into it yet, and he couldn't now because he was too drunk, but he knew he should.

Finally, Dante said, "Are you in love with me?"

All thoughts of the Order and the book were instantly swept out of Nero's mind.

It took him a while to scrape together an answer, far too long. "What makes you think that?" he asked, and he tried to laugh but it came out wrong.

"A lot of things. I need to know."

Nero yanked his hand out of Dante's and stood up, and he staggered a little, unsteady. The pressure was back in his throat, and in a flash of rage he kicked the coffee table and sent it skidding across the floor. "You're fucked up," he said.

"So you're not," said Dante.

"Of course not!" Nero put his hand over his mouth, all but choking now. What had he done to give it away? The booze was making him stupid, and he couldn't _think._ What should he say? What should he do?

"That's too bad," said Dante from behind him. "Because I think I'm kind of in love with you."

Holy _fuck._ "That's _bullshit!"_ Nero whirled around, fury wiping away all the anxiety and uncertainty. "You don't give the _first shit_ about me!" The words came out slurred, and that only stoked his anger.

Dante was visibly taken aback. "What gave you that idea?"

Aiming a shaking finger at Dante, Nero said, "You're always running off to be _with her!"_ He wanted to destroy something, but nothing was at hand; denied an easy outlet, the fury roared up inside him and emerged as a snarling cry.

"That's more complicated than it looks, kid," said Dante. He got to his feet as well. "We can talk about that later, when you're sober."

"We don't have to talk about it _at all,"_ said Nero. "Don't fuck around with me! I know full well you _don't care,_ and nothing you do or say ever means _anything."_

Dante took a step toward Nero. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Bullshit. If you were, you'd _stop doing it."_

This was too much. It was already too much. Nero couldn't stand to be here any longer. He looked around furiously for his keys and couldn't find them, then realized he was far too drunk to drive anyway and just started toward the door. It was like the air itself inside the building was stabbing him in the chest. He lost his balance and stumbled to one side, but caught himself on the wall.

Before he could reach the door, Dante grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, and trapped him against the wall.

Panic slammed through Nero, ripping away his reason and putting him back in that basement, rebar through his arm and chest and another impalement a moment away. He cried out in terror and tried to tear free, but couldn't get away from the metal nailing him to the wall.

When he came back to himself he was panting for air and still unable to move, which sent a new frenzy of fear through him, until he realized that it was Dante. He was pinned to the wall by Dante's body, and the man was softly shushing in his ear, and his heart was slowing. He was in no danger here.

He stopped struggling and pressed his mouth to Dante's shoulder, and managed to gasp out, "I'm so fucked up."

"Shhh," Dante whispered. "It's okay. You're allowed to be fucked up."

How could he say that? _How could he say that?_ Nero tried to shove Dante away, anger shooting uncomfortably through the residual fear. "Shut the hell up!" he said. "You don't know anything!"

"I know that I want you to be happy," said Dante. He wouldn't release Nero, and just moved his stance to hold Nero more firmly against the wall. "And I can't do anything to make that happen."

Nero gave up trying to escape, and put his arms around the man holding him. "Don't say you love me," he said. This was so painful, so, so painful. "You don't mean it."

"I love to look at you," said Dante softly. "I love to hear your voice. I love it when you smile. I love it when you're happy."

"You don't mean that." Nero didn't want to start crying, but he was drunk and this _hurt so much_ to hear, and he couldn't control a hiccuping sob.

"I mean it. You were right, the other day. I do want to do something terrible to the people who did this to you."

"You can't," said Nero. The words were wet and slurring again, and he hiccuped at the end of them. He pulled Dante into a tighter embrace, thinking disjointedly that he needed to physically restrain the more powerful devil. "You can't."

"I know, but kid, if I ever see them again, I don't think I'll be able to help myself."

"You can't," said Nero again, but lips brushed across his cheek, and he turned his head to accept the kiss.

It was gentle, and light, and although Nero became abruptly aware of an erection against his hip there was no urgency or heat in Dante's mouth. It was like the kisses Dante gave when sexually sated, the ones Nero liked best of all. His heart broke, right there, and he couldn't control the pain any longer; he started to gasp into the kiss from the pain of it, tears welling in his eyes and going down his cheeks when he closed them.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be real. It felt real, though, and the ache in Nero's throat and chest were real. The mouth on his was real. The body against him, strong and devilish, was real.

Dante kissed his way back to Nero's ear, and said softly, "Tell me what I can do."

"Don't see _her_ anymore!" said Nero, in anguish.

"... we'll talk about that in the morning."

"Then at least let me sleep with you." When Dante hesitated, Nero said, "I'll give you a blow job _every night_ if that's what it takes!"

"I ... guess we could try." Dante sounded doubtful.

"Please," said Nero, and he forced his left hand between them, so he could feel the erection pressed to his hip.

Dante took his wrist and moved his hand away. "Don't worry about that," he said. "That's not important."

"It is if you need to get off first to sleep with me."

"Later." Then Dante silenced any further protests with another soft kiss.

Oh, that felt so good. Nero stopped resisting and Dante let go of his wrist, and Nero put his arms back around the man's waist. His cheeks itched from the drying tears, but Dante's lips and tongue were so gentle, and Nero was so drunk. Time and gravity lost their meaning for him; it felt like he was floating, untethered except by Dante's mouth. The ache in his throat and chest eased, and all urge to sob quieted, and went away.

After an uncounted time, Dante again pulled to one side. "How do you feel? Tired?"

"No," said Nero, without opening his eyes. "Not yet."

"Let's go sit down."

Dante guided Nero, staggering, to the couch and had him lay down, and himself sat so that Nero's head was in his lap. Nero wiped his face with the hem of his shirt.

"I'm tired of _crying_ all the fucking time," he said, when he'd cleaned the salt from his face.

"Don't worry about it," said Dante, and when Nero settled he started to run his fingers through Nero's hair. "Want to tell me more about your book?"

"Um." That was an abrupt and disorienting change of subject. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me."

"Well ... it's, um ... it's ... about control, I think." It was an effort for Nero to drag his thoughts in the necessary direction. "Everyone wants justice, right? If you make people think they're getting justice, they'll be docile. So, so you teach them that justice is a certain thing, and then you give them that thing, and they think they're being treated fairly. I don't know." He looked up toward Dante's face. "Am I making sense?"

"Yes. Go on."

Nero tried to describe more, about the way the book said societies were structured so as to place some classes above others, and how those structures were maintained by the people who were disadvantaged by them, but it was hard to keep his mind working properly. He went off on tangents and then forgot where he'd been in his main argument when the tangent was finished, and he had to keep correcting himself as he remembered different bits.

"I'm really drunk," he said eventually.

"Yes, you are. Do you want to go upstairs?"

A needle of pain stabbed Nero in the throat. "Only if you stay with me."

"I'll try."

Dante offered to carry Nero upstairs again, but Nero struck his hand away. "I can get there," he said, slurring a bit as he stood up, and then he promptly lost his balance and Dante had to catch him before he hit the floor. He felt _way_ more drunk all of a sudden, much more so than he'd felt laying down; the room looked like it took a dive to one side, and he lost his balance again trying to right himself.

"Come on," said Dante, and he hauled one of Nero's arms over his shoulder. Nero could barely focus on the wall ahead of him, and had a lot of trouble negotiating the stairs, and he was laughing by the time they got to the top.

"You ended up carrying me anyway," he said, or at least tried to say. He wasn't sure how well it came out. They went through the bedroom door, and Nero tripped again when his legs struck something. This time, Dante eased him down, and he landed on the springy mattress.

Oh. This was it. Nero reached for Dante, trying to drag him down, and Dante shushed him. "Let me get you undressed."

"Stay with me." Nero tried to cooperate with getting his coat off.

"I'll try."

The cold air felt really good once Nero's coat and all his shirts were off, and he lay back and panted as Dante pulled off his boots and unzipped his jeans. "Don't go," he said again, and he lifted his hips and tried to help get his jeans down. "You can fuck me if you need to."

"Not when you're drunk." Dante stripped off Nero's underwear, though, before pulling the blanket up over him. This was very confusing, but Nero was too hammered to do anything but wonder how good of a blow job he could possibly give in this state.

"I'll be right back," said Dante, and Nero tried to protest but could only get a mumble out. His limbs felt heavy, and the ceiling was spinning overhead.

The light coming through the bedroom door dimmed, then went out as Dante shut off the lights downstairs. Then Nero lost some time somewhere because the next he knew clothes were rustling near at hand as Dante undressed. He raised his hand, and blue light washed over the room as the blanket fell off his arm.

Dante took it and kissed his palm, then lifted the blanket and got into bed, half-atop Nero. Nero groped down, and Dante gave a rough sigh when his fingers wrapped around the other man's hard cock.

"This is _so_ not a good idea," Dante whispered, but before Nero could say anything about that his mouth was full of Dante's tongue. This kiss was not soft at all, but hard and passionate, far too passionate for Nero to match. Maybe that was apparent, because Dante soon shifted to tonguing the side of Nero's neck.

When Nero laid his hands on Dante's shoulders, words were mumbled against his throat. "Don't claw me," said Dante. He reached over his shoulder and took Nero's talons off his skin. For lack of anything better to do with them, Nero put his arm over his head.

There was something perversely hot about the way Dante licked and kissed and touched Nero's body when Nero could barely respond. It felt undeniably good, especially when Dante's mouth was on his throat or his nipples, but Nero could not attain more than a partial erection and was half-dozing the entire time. Yet Dante was using him anyway, and that seemed bizarrely _right._ He kept his left hand in Dante's hair, encouraging him as much as possible, and when he was bitten he moaned. "Yes."

Presently, Dante sat up a little and reached over to retrieve something from the nightstand; a few moments later, the thick sound of lubricant told Nero what he was doing without even having to look. So, he _was_ going to be fucked, and Nero's mind idly drifted, wondering what that was going to feel like when he was almost passed out.

He wasn't asked to turn over, though. Instead, Dante lowered his hips and half-growled, "Put your legs together." Nero obeyed, trapping Dante's slick erection between his thighs, and was answered by a sharp thrust.

It felt so strange, weirdly intimate given that there was no penetration at all. Dante snarled, but also kissed his throat, and Nero was able to put his arm around the man and hold him closely. He dropped into a doze again, only roused out of it when Dante roughly ordered him to keep his legs together, the hard cock driving between his thighs not enough to keep him awake. He wasn't aware of when Dante came, only of being moved so that his thighs could be cleaned with a towel, and he went back to sleep cuddled close to the devil next to him.

He woke the next morning with another hangover, but when he rolled over he bumped up against a warm body. "Good morning," said Dante.

Oh, _shit._ Everything came back to Nero at once, some of it in fragments, but he clearly remembered Dante telling him he loved him, and he remembered crying _again._ He stared at Dante, completely at a loss for what to do or say after _that._

"Hey," said Dante. "It's okay." He raised a hand, hesitated, and then slowly ran it through Nero's hair.

What did this mean? What should Nero believe? He tried to speak, croaked, and then cleared his throat and tried again. "What are you doing," he asked.

"I'm thinking about a shower and breakfast," said Dante. "What are _you_ doing?"

"I'm thinking I should stop drinking anything stronger than beer." He sat up, expecting to be clubbed in the head, but his head only throbbed a little.

"I ... would not object to that resolution." Dante slid out of bed and walked around it to pick up his discarded boxers from the floor.

How could he be so casual, after all of that? Nero pressed his hand to his face. He was going to have to deal with this. "You don't really love me," he said. "Do you. You were just saying that."

Dante paused at the dresser, one hand on the handle of a drawer. "We'll talk about this when you're more awake," he said.

"Let's talk about it _now."_

Another pause, and then Dante turned to put his back to the wall, facing Nero. "Okay. This is how it is. I've been sleeping with Lady off and on for ... almost as long as you've been alive. It just literally never occurred to me that that had anything to do with you."

That was not something Nero had known, and not something he had considered, but ... he probably should have considered it, shouldn't he? "Oh," he said weakly.

"And there's more," said Dante. "She wants to get pregnant. She wants _me_ to be the father. And I said I'd help her out with that. I know you know how that works."

"... what?" Maybe this really _wasn't_ the conversation to have when he was naked in bed with a hangover. Nero wasn't sure he could process that in the state he was in. "You? A father?"

"I know. It's weird to me, too. Her heart is set on it, though. I would have told you but I had no idea at _all_ that you had any interest in me other than a sexual one."

"I _don't,"_ said Nero, but that was too much vehemence and his hangover whacked him in the head to punish him for it. He winced and held his forehead until it passed.

Dante leaned down and swept up Nero's underwear and pants from the floor, and tossed them onto the bed. "Come on, go downstairs and drink some water, then we'll both get cleaned up and we can talk about this some more."

* * *

After he had two glasses of water and a shower, Nero felt less like a train wreck. While Dante was in the bathroom having a shower of his own, Nero sat down in Dante's chair behind the desk and thought about what a fantastic mess he'd made of things.

When Dante came out of the shower, buttoning his shirt, Nero said, "It's not like I meant for this to happen. And I didn't know you were already in a relationship. If you were sleeping with anyone, I would have thought it'd be Trish, but that obviously wasn't the case."

Dante came over to sit on the edge of the desk. "Mostly Lady and I are friends," he said. "I think the term of art these days is _friends with benefits."_

Nero glanced over at the photo of Trish. "Okay," he said. None of this really made sense. If they'd been together so many years, why weren't they married?

As though he'd somehow heard the question, Dante said, "I only love her the way I love a friend. She's always said she feels the same way."

"But she wants a kid," said Nero. "With you."

"I think she just likes the idea of having a kid descended from Sparda. Someone who won't be in as much danger as a kid who's fully human. You know how parents are, they want their kids to be safe and have good lives. She's just taking that from a pre-conceptual perspective."

"Okay." It still didn't make sense, but Nero supposed it didn't need to. Was this something he could handle? Could he deal with this? He kind of had to, he supposed, but it wasn't going to be easy. He thought about Lady and Dante together and it burned him inside. And if all went according to plan, they would be permanently hitched by a shared offspring.

"I guess that's not what you wanted to hear," said Dante.

"No," said Nero. "It isn't."

"That's how it is, though."

"Then how can you say you love me?" Nero glared at him, tapping anger to keep despair away. "And still sleep with her?"

"I didn't know ..."

"Well, now you do! I know you're not saying that you're going to _stop_ trying to get Lady pregnant."

A sort of cringe crossed Dante's face. "I ... don't know what to tell you, kid. I promised her. She's not a terrible person."

"Then you can't say you love me." A shiver suddenly hit Nero, and he got up to go put on more clothes.

Dante was silent while Nero pulled on a second shirt and a hoodie, and thought about whether to put on a second hoodie on top of the rest. When he turned around to face the other hunter, Dante was smiling a strange kind of smile.

"What?" asked Nero.

"There are so many times I want to hold you," said Dante. "But you get so pissed when I try."

"It's because I hate you," said Nero, although he wasn't at all certain that what Dante was claiming was true. He didn't get pissed when Dante held him. Did he?

"That's okay. You can hate me. I still love you."

Nero viciously flung the second hoodie in his hand at Dante's face. Of course it didn't hit him. "I fucking _hate you."_

"This is what I'm talking about," said Dante. "You're upset, and all I want to do is kiss you until you're not anymore. But you won't let me." He walked over to offer the hoodie back, and Nero snatched it out of his hand.

"That's because _you're_ the one who upset me." Nero decided he didn't need a second one yet, and shook it out to fold it again.

"I'm sorry."

This wasn't fair. It wasn't _fair_ that Dante was standing there saying these things, and yet he was going to go back to Lady anyway and even admitted it! "I hate you," said Nero. "Just leave me alone."

Dante's expression flickered, and he looked away. "Okay."

This was a stupid conversation, and Nero wanted it to be over. He changed the subject. "We should get some breakfast."

"You up to it?"

"Yeah. Toast maybe, at least."

"I think you left your coat upstairs."

Nero went up to the bedroom to get it, and paused up there with it in his hand, because he'd woken up next to Dante. He'd wanted Dante to spend the night with him, and Dante had done it. Yeah, there'd been some weird sex first, that Nero could barely remember, but for whatever reason Dante had needed that in order to get through the night. He'd done what he had to in order to give Nero what he'd wanted.

After a couple of minutes, Dante came up the stairs. "Get lost up here, kid?"

"Did you sleep okay last night?" asked Nero.

"I've, ah, had better nights sleep," said Dante. He came into the bedroom.

"If I asked you to do it again, would you?"

There was only the smallest of hesitations before Dante said, "Yes."

Nero turned to face him. "You wouldn't even try before."

"Things have changed."

Yeah, Nero supposed they had. This was a little overwhelming, and he blamed the hangover for that. No more booze for him. It made him stupid. "I ... thought I loved you," he said, quietly. "I thought you loved me back, and then you walked out to screw Lady."

"I'm sorry," said Dante. "If I could, I would take it all back."

"Whatever." Nero started to walk past Dante to the door, but had to stop when Dante put a hand on the door frame and blocked his way. "What?"

"When she's pregnant," said Dante, "I'll stop."

Nero went still. He didn't have a right to ask Dante to put an end to a relationship as old as he was, but ... that was what he wanted. And Dante was offering to give it to him.

"I want you to be happy," said Dante.

That drew a bitter laugh from Nero. "I'm too fucked up right now to be happy."

Dante put hands on his shoulders and turned Nero to face him. "That's temporary," he said. "It'll pass. It has to."

"What if it doesn't?"

"It has to," said Dante again. "However long it takes. We'll get through it."

He sounded like he believed it, and probably he did. Nero wanted to believe it, too. "I'm crippled," he said.

"That's okay. There's nothing wrong with that."

Suddenly furious, Nero threw Dante's hands off of him, and walked out the door. "You're only saying that because it isn't _you_ who can't even hold a fucking gun."

"I'm saying it because it's true," said Dante. "And because I hate seeing you like this."

"Let's just go get breakfast. And if I throw up, I'm making sure it gets on you."

Downstairs, Nero waited at the door with his gloves in his hands while Dante threw on his coat, and when Dante turned around to get his guns Nero saw that there were fresh rips across the left shoulder and upper arm of it. "Damn," he said. "I did that when I freaked last night, didn't I?"

"Did what?" When Nero gestured at his shoulder, Dante shrugged. "Oh. Don't worry about it. It's just a coat."

"I am so fucked up," said Nero. Would he ever be not-fucked-up again?

"Hey, hey." Dante came over, but stopped two feet away and didn't try to touch Nero. "You can be fucked up. I'll love you no matter what."

"Stop saying that," said Nero, although it didn't come out as angrily as he'd intended. "I don't want to hear that anymore."

"What? That it's okay if you're fucked up, or that I love you?"

"Both." Then Nero paused, because something that had been hanging in the back of his mind abruptly clicked, and came to the fore. "Maybe Lady is already pregnant," he said.

"No," said Dante. "She's been calling me because she thinks she's _fertile_ right now, and she's pissed because I haven't been there for a couple of days."

"She's the one who gave me that job last week," said Nero. "She said not to tell you that it came from her."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "The one that made you think you'd killed someone?"

"I _did_ kill someone," said Nero. "But that's not what I mean. I mean it was dangerous. I thought at first she gave it to me to get me out of the way that day, but probably a pregnant woman wouldn't want to do a job like that. It was really important to her that I not tell you she passed it to me."

After a long moment, Dante said slowly, "I am going to wring her little neck."

Abruptly, Nero's mood lifted. If this conclusion were true, it meant Dante never had to sleep with Lady again! "You don't have to do that," he said, able to be generous now. "Kyrie said that women aren't supposed to tell anyone until they're a couple of months along, because the first few months is when they're most likely to lose the baby."

"I don't care!" said Dante. "I deserve to know!"

"We can ask her later," said Nero. He hoped like hell this turned out to be true. It felt like this would make everything suddenly okay.

"Oh, I'm going to ask her later," said Dante darkly. "We are definitely going to have a conversation."

"Breakfast first," said Nero. He took a step to reach Dante, and gave him a light kiss.

When he pulled away, Dante said, "So all it takes to make you happy is getting a bun into Lady's oven?"

"Something like that."

Dante shook his head, but he was smiling a little. "I just don't understand you at all."

"I don't understand me either a lot of times. If you're trying, you should probably give up on that."

"Yeah, maybe I should."

Nero stepped out the door, and, while Dante locked it behind them, he looked down the street. It seemed very bright compared with the curtain-darkened interior of the building, and it was snowing. Again. There wasn't a lot of it coming down, but it still annoyed him to see it. "I hate snow," he said, pulling on his gloves and then shading his eyes to keep the light from aggravating his hangover.

"It'll stop in March," said Dante. "Maybe."

It still felt weird to be outside and almost unarmed, but there was no point in dwelling on that. This was temporary. Dante had to be right. And Nero could fight unarmed well enough, no problem there. And he still had Nevan. Maybe he'd even take the time to figure out how to use Nevan properly.

No, this wasn't the end of the world. He just had to wait it out. This would be worth it. Nero stuck his hands in his pockets, and started down the sidewalk.

_~fin~_


End file.
